Just Another Letter In Glee
by alcarter
Summary: A canon Season 2 fic if Quinn was a trans guy, ties in with all the actual events, adding in bits about Quinn's FTM. Also mentions Brittana and may move onto Season 3. Rating because trans theme. Friendships with everyone! It was a choice between season 2 lesbian Quinn or trans Quinn - if you want me to write the other, too, I can.
1. Audition

**okay, so if anyone is reading Trouble on Tour I have had some chapters written for a while (like, December. I'm so sorry) and want to know if people actually want to read more of that or not. And this was also a request, so I hope you like it. I also wanted to try some different styles. also, note: the texting will have the name of who it's sent to before it, but messaging will have 'From x'. if it's confusing I'll change it.**

Audition

 _Jacob ben-Israel is possibly the most annoying human being on the planet._

"Please, as if that's actually a human"

"Don't be mean, Santana. Jews are people, too"

"What are you guys talking about?" I love Santana and Brittany, I really do, but sometimes I wonder if half of their conversations are transmitted psychically.

"Erm, you're the one who said he was annoying, Q. And, Brit, Jews aren't people. We've been through this."

"I know. No-one like Rachel could actually have been born"

"I don't know why, but I take offence at that"

"Seriously, Q? I thought after that kid came out it'd pull the stick up your ass with it."

I figured I'd spoken my thoughts out loud - hard not to when that lame excuse for a sophomore was running around with a microphone nearly as big as his hair - but I really didn't think that any conversation where I mentioned that someone was annoying would end up here. _Here_ being talking about my daughter. That's still hard to process. Not the thought that I have a daughter, not really (though sometimes the idea just hits me when I'm doing the most mundane things, and hard enough to knock all the wind out of me), but that I was pregnant. Of course, I've only really had a daughter for four months and I was pregnant for nine (six and a half where I knew) but the concept of having a child, even at sixteen (seventeen next month), is a lot more natural than, well, being a _mother_. Looking in the mirror and seeing not two but three protrusions that just aren't right on me was sickening. I guess I'm lucky that I performed that scornful glare of despair with such scrutiny, or I might not have noticed the bump and I might have killed the child I didn't know I had.

"Quinnie, Jew cloud is coming over!" I can't tell if she's scared or excited. I love Brittany - not like Santana, and the pair of us should probably talk soon, but enough to care for her like Santana does. I've made it implicit, but explicitly clear, that the first rule of McKinley is not to upset Brittany. Make her feel smart and do it without patronising her is basically the modus operandi, and maybe never say no. So I roll my eyes and, because Brittany's hugging my arm but still managing to hold one of Santana's hands with both of hers, I actually don't string the boy up with my words.

"What do you want?" I ask. It's biting, but it's not rhetorical.

"Quinn Fabray, I'm making a video about the amazing summers and looking ahead of everyone in glee, what do you have to say!?" Emphatic. The boy is emphatic, dramatic. I seriously consider questioning if it's a Jewish thing but I can't afford to offend Berry- Rachel. I may need her.

"Why are you taking an interest, Jewfro? Aren't there actual loser clubs you could be interrogating?" Santana's actually are rhetorical questions.

"No, it's okay. I mean, there's no point, but don't you want to practice handling the paparazzi?" There are ways to manipulate Santana into helping you not offend Rachel so that you can wean her for whatever, whenever, and actually trust you about it.

"Great! How's the start to your junior year?" The fuzzy microphone is held a respectable distance from my face because I'm pretty sure ben-Israel actually wants to keep his hair and he's beaming at his recording machine of all things.

"Well, there are no baby hormones right now so there should be less crying this year." And, thank God. I'd just about been able to manage with _girl hormones_ and _female puberty_ and _menstruation_ at sixteen, but all of that flying oestrogen nonsense last year was impossible. Actually pregnancy - I found ways to deal with; Freakin' girl hormones on, well, _more_ girl hormones? Made me feel like a weak girl.

I'd always felt more like me doing things that Lucy couldn't, because girls don't, and I'd always be punished. And, when I learnt I was a girl (because what little kid actually understands gender or even physical, biological, sex?) I mostly forgot about everything that should have been a flashing warning sign that "YOU'RE NOT A GIRL". I was too busy, being a girl. When I was younger, I was too busy talking to other girls and learning how to make daisy chains because I really wasn't adept at it. Then, when things like that made other girls shun me, I was busy working hard to be a girl because I wanted to be. I wanted to fit, or something. I'm still not quite sure, but I am sure of one thing - and it involved a lot of talking with Puck over the last two weeks of school after I gave birth. Can you picture a guy up in stirrups pushing a human out of him? Even with girl parts, it's strange for me to imagine and _I did it._ So, Puck knows. He doesn't feel gay - or, according to the smirk we parted with when I was late getting home, "no more gay than I felt before. Bro." He high-fived me. Then, he told me "wait a sec, dude" and ran inside. He came back ten minutes later with his freshman gym bag (he's varsity now, different design) pretty stuffed.

He smiled and said "I still love you, but I figured - after I told you - it was like the bitchy older sister I wanted to hang with, and we'd both be awesome to our sweet little sister. That's our kind of family dynamic. Now, I see you like, you're just the bastard that went through shit and I'd totally kick out the top bunk." We both laughed, but Puck's was far more nervous. "That's, um, some shit you might want. Don't kill me if you don't, though." I smiled and turned to leave, not exactly equipped to hug him. "Wait, you might wanna open up like, here or in your car, cos you, like, you're living with your mom now and, if you don't want some of it, you could chuck it back at me and not, rather than, er, risk your mom finding it." I sat on the top step of the two halfway down his path, feet on the ground and bag now on the one step between my ass and feet. Puck joined me and unzipped the bag. It's, like, um, some old clothes. Like, some about your size and some a bit smaller if you- Yeah." He was looking at my breasts. "I know Finn's super self-conscious about his pudgy little man boobs. Like, he sometimes wears shirts in the bath, apparently, and I figure it's shit worse for you and, so, like. Yeah. There's um, running shit. Compression bandages." He rifled through some more and held up "boxers, like, clean ones. New ones. You know when my mom got some maternity shit, she actually bought these for you cos she'd read that, like, boxer briefs were more comfortable and stuff. She thought that meant actual men's boxers, so I guess these are actually yours anyway. This is like, I dunno, a first aid kit of shit after I got injured playing basketball. Thought you might, I dunno. Um, my old DS, a couple of CDs. Oh, and games. Yeah. Aftershave, and deodorant. A book my mom got me for you called 'How to be a man'. I think it's about stepping up and being a dad and shit, but I never read it. It's for you, anyway. Oh, and another book. It's a - math? notebook I never wrote in. I thought you could write like, have a journal or something. And I wrote Rachel's email address in it."

"What?"

"Well, she knows about shit like this. And she's actually awesome, and she wants to be your friend. And."

"Yeah." I knew what he was going to say. 'Tell people', or 'you need people', or even, 'you know you want more people who won't even mention it, but who know and who you can just be yourself around without it ever coming up and not even talking to, or about you. Just knowing you.'

So, I needed Rachel to trust I wasn't just taking the 'tranny' nicknames we'd given her too far. I wanted to tell Santana. ben-Israel was moving on to the boys, asking Puck if he had an eventful summer. I wasn't even looking to make he didn't say anything, I knew he wouldn't. In fact, he probably wouldn't say anything at all. Correct.

I turn to Santana and Brittany. Brittany, I love her, but she can't know.

"Hey, S, could-"

"Q, a word?" Puck.

Well, if I was ever going to use the boys' toilets... Puck had just pulled me in, told the other guys to clear out. Then he added "But Quinn might be in here a lot more." They just shrugged. I don't think they particularly cared about _me,_ of all girls, being in there. I probably would, since I mostly just used the locker room bathrooms for actually going, the girls' bathrooms were for talking and make-up.

"You joined the _Cheerios_ again! Why?"

"I actually like it, the gymnastics, the dancing. I do. I like basketball kinda more, but that ain't gunna happen. It won't be long before we're in winter kit, anyway." And it wouldn't. Sure, Ohio was getting unseasonably warmer year upon year (climate change, nice one, humanity) but it still wasn't _warm_ by any stretch of the imagination.

"Oh. Okay. I just- don't want you. Sorry, bro, I don't want you hiding yourself or pretending shit ain't real because those are the kids that jump off bridges. Well, and the kids that get bullied because of- Shit, don't kill yourself." He hugged me.

"I'll try not to." I was honest. He was right. Some kids bottled it all up, denying themselves, and died. Others told everyone, and died. I think I'll strike a happy medium. It's what I was going for before. Myself, and a few friends, and then I'd maybe change, with a year out from college, and nobody there would know the difference, that I was ever in a woman's body. I'd have to tell some people, if I ever fell in love (and just _who_ I was attracted to, I'm not sure, but that's not really important at the moment, in the scheme of things). "I promise."

Kurt walked in on us hugging.

"Oh McQueen, please tell me there is not another child in the near future."

I happy laughed.

"We're going to tell you everything, Kurt." I sounded head cheerleader-determined. Puck looked at me funny, then smiled wide. Great for him, and me, but disconcerting for Kurt.

"Everything about _what_ , to be specific?" Wow, the kid was cautious.

"Well," where to begin? "I'm not pregnant."

"Good..."

"Nor am I a girl." Nothing, "Puck's the only one that knows. Well, and you."

"Really?" He is sensible.

"Yes, really. And I will honestly take your fashion advice myself if you don't tell anyone."

"Oh, my dear, I would never." Kid actually squealed. "Can I hug you? Oh, to hell with it all, I'm going to hug you, Quinn Fabray, my dear, because you have just made me really proud." Puck was still pseudo-hugging me, one arm over my shoulders, from my left, and Kurt was now encapsulating my right side and jumped a little bit, too. When he spoke next, he was deadly serious, a tone I'd only heard when fighting Mercedes on solo ideas. "Oh, no, I'm terribly sorry for any internal, and of course, what will be external struggle for you. I'm not happy about that, but I am happy that you felt like you can tell people, and me."

"Yeah. Can you let go?" Both other boys did.

"Will you actually let me dress you?" Kurt asked, skipping (I'm sorry, kid _skipped_!?) over to the urinal around the corner from the sinks.

"Er, you can take me shopping, but I'm not wearing any of it in public."

"Perfectly understandable." He returned and turned to the sinks, "Can one of you please get my soap from my pocket? Ugh, Quinn, it's my left blazer pocket. Honestly, Noah, I think the gayest thing about you is the, um. Never mind. Now, Quinn, hmm, Quinn's good. So, unless you have any standing arrangements, can I expect you on Saturday, say 11am? East Lima mall."

"I guess. Text me so I remember."

"Okay. What's your number?"

Kid was _way_ too excited. He was never this excited about dressing Rachel up, until he thought it might win him Finn. Oh. "Dude, I'm straight." His face looked up from fishing his phone out of his other blazer pocket (tweed! And I was going to let him dress me? Oh, no.) but actually had fallen.

"Firstly, boys," he glared at Puck, "I'm mostly shocked at Quinn's use of 'dude'. Not entirely unexpected, but it sounded odd in your beautiful voice nonetheless." Eyebrows - both - raised at him. "As much a fact as any term of endearment sounds odd coming out of Finn's mouth. Speaking of. I really hate to have to ask this, but. Straight, _how_?" The eyes now, with brows already raised, turned to slits.

"I like girls, Kurt. And I know you didn't want to ask that. I should've explained-"

"No! Oh, no, no, no. It hurts more that you think you should have to do any sort of explaining than it did to ask. Right. What's your number?"

I'm sitting in math, counting down the minutes to lunch because - Cheerio or no - I am going to eat like a beast. I had a study period before this, but given the fact there is nothing to study yet, I went to check what we would be having. A Full English Breakfast. Not that the lunch ladies (twee as they are), nor anyone else in this godforsaken town, will know that. It's bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast - it's cholesterol on a plate. And it's delicious. My stomach growls and Santana, in front of me, turns around and whispers "I know you're used to eating like a whale, tubbers, but can you keeps it down. I'm try'n get my concentrate on." Hilarious. Wait. Okay, I notice breasts a lot. I like them. Not on me, but I do. That and the fact that I'm used to staring down my own mean that I can't help but recognise Santana's. They've grown. Perfect. I can use the threat of spreading this to keep her from telling people - no. I can tell Sue and become head cheerleader, and then none of the Cheerios can tell anyone. Because, sadly, I'm not certain what they may hear or see in that changing room.

Lunch be damned, I have to tell Sue now before I lose the nerve. I don't want Santana to see me as some sort of hypocrite and use anything against me to get back on top. I'm still hungry.

 **To Kid Gay:** dude im starving. really. but im w/sue can u get me a finn-sized portion of bacon and eggs and stuff?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** of course cheerio

Two minutes went by before Kurt texted again

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I'm glad you're eating.

Then, it was only a few seconds before

 **To Quinn Fabray:** you're not just going to use it to throw up or anything, are you? I'm just concerned.

I hadn't finished reading when the next one came in, an attempt to be lighthearted after that

 **To Quinn Fabray:** also, a Finn-sized portion? I'm concerned about that, too :)

 **To Kid Gay:** no, im really hungry. to both. and thank you. to all?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** haha, you're welcome.

I was about to pocket the phone when it buzzed again (yes, I'd set Kurt's ringtone to Madonna but it was on vibrate)

 **To Quinn Fabray:** you know, you're the only one who calls me 'dude'

How do you respond to that? Oh, yeah, with something cheesy and perhaps true; I'm not sure if I believe it, but it might be.

 **To Kid Gay:** nobody else sees you like a dude?

Okay, the idea is hard to put into words, but the kid's clever.

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I think I know exactly what you mean there.

then

 **To Quinn Fabray:** somehow. would it kill you text less guy-ish, just for me? :)

I know that the smile is Kurt being in good humour. Comfort after something serious. He's pretty good at it.

 **To Kid Gay:** its an effort. i didnt know how to put that . i got you :)

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I'm aware. I just meant, grammatically speaking, some punctuation could do no harm :)

 **To Quinn Fabray:** are we friends?

 **To Kid Gay:** cool. punctuation it is.

 **To Kid Gay:** oh, yeah, 'course.

 **To Quinn Fabray:** wow, you managed one text like a human!

 **To Kid Gay:** ha! why were never frnds b4

 **To Kid Gay:** we*

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I think you know we weren't friends, and I hereby resolve that we never mention it unless you need to get some stuff off your chest.

 **To Quinn Fabray:** and really, out of all of that you choose to correct the fact you missed 'we'!?

 **To Kid Gay:** you have no idea how much stuff i gotta get off my chest ;)

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I think I'm having a heart attack! Quinn Fabray, was that a joke!?

 **To Kid Gay:** tlkn to sue now gtg

 **To Quinn Fabray:** please, please, text syntactically correctly! You are in my english class, Mr. Fabray! :)

"Hi, coach!"

"Q, why are you wasting my time already? You're back on the squad, I'm sure you still have your uniform. Unless it doesn't fit after that thing you had."

Gosh, I'm glad I'm used to blocking most of what she says.

"I just thought it was prudent for you to know that Santana had some surgery over the summer." Oh, great.

"Continue."

"She got a boob job, and I'd like to be captain again."

Leaving the office, head cheerleader once more, I swallow when I hear Santana's name being called over the intercom. Seconds later, I have four texts.

From Brit, Santana (despite our contact names, me and Santana love each other really), and, though I wonder in response to what, Kurt.

 **To Quinnnnnnnie:** Santana wants to know if she can go to see Sue?

 **To Slut:** what u done whore?

See, girls text lazily, too. I don't need to type with standard English for Kurt, but at least I am certain he was cracking a joke about typing 'guy-ish'.

 **To Quinn Fabray:** Why does Sue want Santana?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** Are you alright, Cheerio?

So I respond

 **To Brit:** yes, make her go

 **To Bitch:** i dunno. i was just w/sue

 **To Kid Gay:** yeah. im head cheerleader now.

A long vibration, phone back in my bra (seriously, girls don't have pockets and it might as well be useful for something), warns that I've maybe got responses from all three at once.

 **To Quinnnnnnnie:** ok :)

 **To Slut:** and?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** she's going to murder you. Separately, but on a related note, I spoke to Noah, and he told me what you promised.

I will ignore the bitch.

 **To Kid Gay:** yeah im okay dude. i can handle lezpez

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I'm sorry, what?

 **To Kid Gay:** oh yeah, i cant say that

 **To Quinn Fabray:** because it's a slur or because Santana would kill you?

 **To Kid Gay:** both. bitch'd kill me if she knew i knew and if i told any1 and i gotta stop w all the name calling but im a dick n its how me n puck call her

 **To Quinn Fabray:** honestly, English is your native tongue. Unlike 'lezpez', who I suggest you talk to sometime. I'm not a big fan of cheerleaders, but we can't lose any more members of glee club.

 **To Kid Gay:** santana aint gunna kill herslef if brits still putin otu

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I do care about you, too.

 **To Kid Gay:** oh, thx . really dude

 **To Kid Gay:** i was thinkn of

 **To Quinn Fabray:** You're not going to start texting in standard English, are you?

 **To Kid Gay:** n

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I won't gossip about the unholy trinity, either.

 **To Kid Gay:** thx wheres my food?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** how on Earth has nobody noticed you're a boy before!? :)

 **To Kid Gay:** dresses

 **To Quinn Fabray:** I'm outside the spanish room. I'd say you owe me $3, but it's a treat for a growing boy :)

 **To Kid Gay:** u suck. thx :)

The next morning, I was happy. I stashed the bag Puck gave me in the cavity behind my night stand. I still had to wear spanks, but they were better than proper panties. So, I was happy. That is, until Santana came barrelling into me, cursing. Shue wasn't impressed, Brit got over it. I don't know if either of us won the scrap - because, God, I wasn't going to punch a girl - but I came out on top. Tighten that high pony, whore, made it understandable when I accosted her during study period.

"Why have you dragged us into the bathroom, Q?"

"We need to talk, Santana."

"About what? How much of a bitch you are?"

"No, about-" she was glaring at me and stole the words from me without hearing them. Good thing I brought a prop. "We are friends and will help each other with shit, right?"

She considered and uncrossed her arms from her chest. "Are you pregnant again, Q?"

"No. We both need to talk about this." Her eyes questioned my face before flicking to the pamphlet I had Kurt snatch from Miss Pillsbury. It was cool for him to do, but I don't want to catch me and force me to talk to her yet.

"I ain't a fucking rainbow, Fabgay!"

"Okay." It wouldn't be that easy, and they weren't obvious to anyone but me - at the moment. "Well, I'm not gay-"

"Great! So what was this meeting for!?"

"Santana." My voice, pleading, sincere, desperate?, but definitely serious as it had been before, made her look back to me and soften.

"So what are you, Q? I won't tell anyone. Promise." and she smiled.

Genuine, and I had to take a deep breath. "I'm a boy."

I think that was one of, maybe the largest option she'd been considering when she asked.

"Okay. And you like girls?"

"I think so."

"You're brave."

Could I say 'You're not'? No. "Thank you."

"Do you want, what, something?"

"Just, hah, just for you to treat me like normal. And don't let on."

"Okay. Hey, I had an idea."

"Yeah?"

"You might not want it, but. I have a - thingy. Brit got it because she, er-"

"Is it, what I think it is? A. Geez, a fake penis?"

"Yeah. Do you want it?"

"It's clean?"

"Still in the box. It's in Brit's room, we could have a sleepover Friday if you like. I mean, if you like sleepovers?"

"They're not bad. And I would like to pick it up, if I can have it."

"Sure. Okay. Guess I shouldn't tell Brit, though?"

"Sorry you have to keep a secret."

"I know she'd just. Not even tell, but call you 'he' in front of everyone or something. Forget not to."

"Yeah. Thanks. See you in glee?"

So now me and Santana have an understanding and I just have to see what the new stupid ideas to get more members for glee are without wanting to punch Hudson.

Finn Hudson, who's now in a strop. He's a child. I have to tell him.

"Finn, why are you pouting like a newborn baby?"

Everyone stares. I guess I could have used a less sensitive analogy, even if I am the one should be sensitive about it. It was a general simile, though. Guess what, Finn didn't notice.

"Well," Puck interrupts as Finn looks like he's about to storm over and rip my head off, "Coach Beiste is a woman, but looks like a man, but does not, like really does not, like to be called dude. At all." He looks like he is trying to convey something to me. Probably either 'here's an opening to tell everyone', or 'don't be pissed off, dude, 'cos if Hudson had told you it would've been more offensive than what you just said about our kid'. I turn my eyes to Finn and back, then raise my eyebrows in question. Puck nods, which means it was the latter and I'm glad he knows, because I could well have got really mad at Finn and maybe said or done something I don't want yet.

Even so, Kurt audibly swallows when he notices that we're still staring at each other. Santana, sat next to him but sideways facing Brittany, hears him and then notices, too. One of them had better help this situation.

"Wow, Fabray, didn't think you actually liked Puckerman. Better get away from those tracks before they take you down to Lima Heights, or maybe detour into preggers city." Bitch. At least it was appropriate and totally saved us.

"Bitch, we all know that you were the 99 times conception didn't happen." I had to. Santana smiled at me a little when I sat down on Brit's other side, Shue obviously telling us to stop fighting again letting me zone out for the rest of the hour whilst he and Hudson talked about, I don't know, Journey, probably.


	2. That Weekend

**So not all chapters will be episodes, because other stuff happens and I don't want them getting really long. Chapters with the episode titles will correspond, though.**

That Weekend

Friday after school Santana drove me and Brittany over to her house. I changed after Cheerio practice into some of Puck's old stuff as well as my boxers (and to think, in a few hours something could be filling them! I let myself be excited about that) and with Ace bandages that Puck had slipped to me during glee club. When I moved back in with my mom I hadn't really worn any of the stuff except if I went round to Puck's, and the compression bandages soon turned out to not help with the chest situation - but they did sculpt arms and legs to look more muscular. I'd also got some pyjamas from Puck when he got new ones over summer. Not that I'd worn them, either, but I would tonight. They were in the gym bag, which had spent a day in my locker with me constantly checking that nobody was trying to break in. Much of me did want people to know, but most of me didn't want the fallout.

Getting into the back seat of Santana's car she smiled, then she held Brit's hand over the console. She had to know I just want to help her, too. I was risking Brittany seeing me dressed like this because I don't think she'd work anything out and, if she happened to let slip about the bandages I could say I got injured cheering. Santana (and probably Puck, who came over when the footballers were practising) would back me up on that.

The three of us having a sleepover at Santana's house is a good idea, I tell myself as she pulls us up to her room. I'm setting up the DVD (sing-along options for Brit, check) when I notice her slip a box wrapped in brown paper from her school bag into my gym bag. I hear 'Vogue' playing from inside it, maybe I'll change it to Lady Gaga, and Santana throws my phone at me.

"Why do you have such a gay ringtone, Fabray?" I can hear that she's not being so harsh and the underlying 'if you're into boys, I'm still cool'.

"I like that song, Kurt sang it lovely"

"It's Kurt's tone, Brit"

 **To Quinn Fabray:** Remember, 11am tomorrow, boy. Do not be late! Meet you outside Costa on the first floor.

"Why are you meeting Kurt tomorrow, Quinnie?"

"Um, glee stuff, Brit."

"That's a shit lie, Fabray, and you know it. Whatever, me and Brit don't need to know what you're doing with him. You're here with us tonight."

 **To Kid Gay:** sure lezpez might be w me tho

I expect a reply, but none comes. Instead, Santana's phone plays 'Bad Romance' and she reaches to grab it, handing the DVD control back to Brittany.

 **To Satan Lopez:** Are you going to be shopping with me and Quinn tomorrow?

 **To Lady Hummel:** sweet mother of god pls tell me u r not gon dress him like u

 **To Satan Lopez:** He told you! Can you come shopping with us?

 **To Lady Hummel:** luv 2 lady but i gots my own girl to b w tomrw

 **To Satan Lopez:** Anything you want to get off your chest?

 **To Lady Hummel:** nope even if th boob job gt me kickd down th pyramid i still luv em

 **To Lady Hummel:** unlike Q. omg th jokes r endles!

 **To Satan Lopez:** Can nobody type in actual English! I can excuse Quinn for being a brute male, but I know you actually speak English. Or, at least, some 'ghetto' creole Spanglish.

 **To Lady Hummel:** least i spek más español que señor shue

 **To Satan Lopez:** Please tell me the fact you bothered with accents and tildes is some stunning irony about how your English is 'from da heights' whilst your Spanish is perfect.

 **To Lady Hummel:** u knos it brosef

 **To Satan Lopez:** You can talk to me, or Quinn, if you want.

 **To Lady Hummel:** ill go shop w u2 tomr bt u owe me gtg brit lukin fone

 **To Satan Lopez:** Goodbye, Satan, Smasher of Keys.

"Done texting Kurt?" I ask her when she throws her phone onto her pillow. No response from Kurt means he's been talking about this to Santana and presuming she'll relay the information to me. She may not, before we forget, unless I ask.

"Yeah, I'm going shopping with you guys tomorrow. Keep his fashion in check. Brit, baby, I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Okay. But I'll be sad in the morning." Oh, that pout. _I_ want to solve this problem for Brittany.

"I know, baby. I'll bring you some breadsticks and frozen yogurt?"

"Okay!"

"Okay, you two. What movie are we watching?"

"Whatever you want, Q. I mean, my dad has 'Boys Don't Cry', but maybe you'd prefer 'Mamma Mia!' It has songs in it for Brit, too."

"Yay!" And Brittany is out the door to retrieve the DVD from wherever Santana keeps the musicals in this house. It may have been deliberate to get Brit out of the room, so we need to talk now.

"Q, I slipped your present in your bag."

"Thanks. Hey, what's that first film you mentioned?"

"I don't think you'll like it. And it's mine, in the case under my TV. We're not watching it if there's a chance my parents could walk in. But, maybe someday, just us two could watch it together." Which means it's topical to one or both of us and maybe Santana will take some help in return. I'd hint at that, if Brittany didn't walk in right then.

"I've forgotten where you keep the DVDs and didn't want to ask your dad."

"Is my dad home?"

"Yeah"

"PAPÍ, busca a la DVD de Mamma Mia y vi a mi dormitorio con dulces, porfa!" (Dad, find the Mamma Mia DVD and bring it my room with snacks, please)

"Vale, Santana. Está Quinn y Brittany contigo?" (okay, is it Q and B with you?)

"Sí, y necesitamos hablar de Quinn" (Yes, and we need to talk about Quinn)

I know enough Spanish, despite Mr Shue's teaching efforts, to make out what she said.

"Por qúe? Y sobre?"

"Es importante, papa" It begins as a shout, but then Dr López enters Santana's room with a few Musical DVDs and a bowl of popcorn, a bag of sweets, and my favourite chocolate from when I was pregnant.

He throws the DVDs on the bed with the bag of sweets, places the bowl on the nightstand, and then hands the large chocolate bar to me with a flourish.

"For Quinn. What do we need to talk about, and does it involve B-A-B-"

"No, papa"

"Okay. Do you want to talk now?" Santana slowly turns her head away from her dad and looks to my chest.

"Yeah." Dr López follows her line of sight, turns away quickly, but then looks back after, I presume, he realised there is a distinct lack of breasts in a certain area.

"Ah, shall the three of us go to the bathroom" He mutters, holding the door open and looking at Brittany trying to open the bag of sweets and get the DVD out of its case at the same time.

"Quinn, are you okay?"

"Er, pretty much." Lame answer, there, dude.

"Can I ask you to take your top off?"

Santana laughs out loud "You can ask, but he migh-"

"Er, yeah." I turn around, take off the t-shirt. I'm in Ace bandages and a vest, the bandages clearly visible because of the arm holes.

"Now," he begins when I turn around, clearly in doctor mode "given what I'm seeing right now and my daughter's pronoun usage a minute ago, am I right to presume that you believe yourself to be a boy, Quinn?"

"Yes."

"Okay. This is not an area I specialise in, however I can refer you to a colleague of mine who does, if you'd like. I also would like you to remove the bandages around your chest."

"What? Why?" Instant reaction. I mean, that's creepy, right? Or, does he want to- what? Check if I'm disgusted by having breasts? Er, there wouldn't be strapping if I wasn't-

"Oh, Quinn. I should have said first. It's simply because Ace bandages - those are Ace bandages?" I nod, and so does Santana, "They really damage your body. As much as I know many people in your situation actually want the bandages to damage their breasts, that is much less likely than suffering internal damage to your ribs and lungs, especially when wrapped so tightly. Do you own any sports vests? Or - I have an idea."

Oh. And what? That's a lot of information all at once, and he wants a response, but my jaw is still on the floor from finding out about how I may be crushing my insides.

"Wow, maybe that runs in the family." I joke, and thankfully both Lópezes laugh.

"Right, I can go and get you an actual binder, right now, for your chest - if you promise me you'll get those bandages off, Santana - help him, as soon as I leave to get them?"

"Of course!"

"Yay, Quinn's boobs!"

"Okay, my colleague has it, can I mention you to him while I'm there?"

"Maybe not my name, not yet, in case I don't want to see him."

"Whatever you want. Oh, and I'm scrapping the open-door policy for you, Santana. Enjoy it."

Santana is now the one whose jaw is touching the floor, but I can her dad pummelling down the stairs.

"I'm sure he only meant now that we're adults and talk about stuff he can trust us." Lies, now he knows there won't be any sex because he knows, like I know, like Santana knows we know.

"Shut up and take your top off!" She snaps and, okay, pulls the vest over me. "Damn, your abs are back."

Only a few minutes after we're done unwrapping my torso - well, after Santana is done with that and making boob jokes, thanks to me shutting her up with a "good thing I'm more of an ass guy" - her dad is back. Which means this specialist doesn't live too far away, I guess, and who do I know who lives near here? Really just other minorities in Lima. He takes the Ace bandages off me and wraps them up, handing me three binder packets.

"They're medical, they're a gift. I only told him that my daughter knows a transmale who is quite shy, okay?"

"Thanks, doctor López."

"Anytime, Quinn." he sighs, "We know, last year, with your parents. And, if you ever want to stay with us here, Maribel absolutely adores you, and I could do with an ally over the girls, no matter how tomboyish Santana really is." I'm brought to tears, I don't actually cry, but to know a whole family would take me in as their son is amazing and makes me give him one of the side-hugs that Puck once added a back slap to and declared it a bro-hug.

"Yeah, I always wanted a white brother." Santana rolls her eyes, but doesn't turn away and then gives me hug herself. "Come on, Q, before we never get to see this movie you want to see." Oh, Santana. She'll stop pretending around me soon, I hope.

Saturday morning I'm being pulled into a hug by Whitney Pierce too quickly to recognise. She's intuitive in a different way to Brittany and probably worked out me, maybe long ago or maybe within the split second after she opened the door, so just says that she hopes we had a good time and would Santana be coming over later. She worked out Santana long ago, too, and probably her own daughter as soon as she could walk (or dance?)

Santana, apparently, told Kurt when I was asleep that we'd pick him up at his house because it's on the way to the mall. Totally not because he doesn't have a car anymore and she actually has a heart.

Kurt's house has him and Burt in when we get there, and Burt answering the door. "Kurt, they're here. Sorry, he probably takes longer than youse two with his beauty regime."

"Dad!" He skips down the stairs again (who did he think he was fooling?)

"What? I know they're cheerleaders, but you said they were amicable now!"

"Okay. Come along, Quinn, Santana." He picks up a shoulder purse (oh my God) and ushers us out the door whilst saying, "What are you wearing?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, Quinn. You're like a combination of an Abercrombie model and a dirty hobo - and I had no idea that the two could ever be put together before!"

"I think you did," Santana chips in, unlocking her car, "It's called Puckerman, and it is the walking embodiment of what you just described, lady lips."

"What, want to kiss them?" Kid just sassed Santana. Has he become comfortable around her already, or trying to show that so - something. "And I guess you're right, which would explain why Quinn looks like that. I'm guessing these are Puckerman's clothing rejects?"

"Wait, Puck knows? Did he know before me?"

"Yes. Think about it. I kinda had to. Then Kurt found out by accident, and I wanted to tell you and they both thought it was a good idea." Well, close enough to why she was only the third person to find out. We weren't exactly best friends.

"Okay." We pull into the parking lot and, locking up, she asks "So, where to first, boys?"

The East Lima mall was a good idea. There's another mall on the West side of Lima, but it's bigger and ergo much more popular, especially amongst our friends. That doesn't stop, in fact it's probably the reason for, Puck being there with his sister.

"Hey, guys!" he chases behind us, and then "What are you doing?"

"Shopping" Kurt is too excited.

"With these two? I'm sorry, do any of your styles overlap?"

"Maybe not, but hopefully overlapping mine and Kurt's will suggest something stylish for Quinn to wear."

"Ouch. Thanks, Santana."

I intervene, after gaping at how natural that went, "You know I actually kinda like the messy style. I really do. But I told Kurt I would, and I could do with some performing outfits and things I can wear out more often."

"Yes, and some hats, because you look great, and then there's the hair." Kurt, ever the thinker and fashionista makes the point that anybody, even Azimio, looks like a girl with this haircut.

"Yeah." I have to say, just as Puck asks

"Can we tag along?", pulling his sister more forwards (she's never really liked Santana). Oh, she's here. Now, no pronouns have been used but she can tell something is up, especially after the summer. I make a note to talk to her later, with Puck's - and his mom's? - permission, when I go round to ask him about gaming. I've been trying, really I have, and I enjoy them, but I keep dying in them. I need tactics or cheats or something, and the thought of them makes the idea of gaming even more exciting and I grin, which Puck takes as a yes.

Kurt and Puck have been suggesting alternating mens' stores, and we've ventured through enough and are taking a break with only two successful purchases and some frozen yogurt, when Santana says "I want to do some shopping now, can we hit up the department store." Which is not a question, not even in inflection, and it's genius. The only place I really liked shopping was department stores, because they had toys and books and furniture as well as clothes - and, in terms of clothes, really nice men's fashion that a ten-year-old Lucy thought was the section for her before she was pulled away from the dinosaur jumper and shoved in a rose dress. It's still the best clothes section, and I get about ten more things (and a poster, and a DS game that looks exciting) before Santana takes us back to Kurt's, and then waves us off calling "If you want a lift home, Q, just text me!"

Kurt insisted on a fashion show, and we walked towards the basement stairs when his dad called from the living room "Kurt, why do you like shopping with girls?"

I want to explain for him, and leave our bags in the hallway as I pull him to the room. "Oh, hi, er, Quinn. How was it?"

"Great. Actually, it was. Are you implying you think Kurt's a girl-"

"Quinn, what are-"

"I am. Why do you bring it up?" I sit down on the footstool on the other side of the coffee table to Burt.

"Kurt offered to take me shopping today for me. For clothes I'd be more comfortable in. Not because he wants to shop with girls, but because I -" I think Burt can tell, and just as he looks like he's about to say something he figures he doesn't want to push anything. "Well, Kurt very kindly offered to go shopping with a boy, as much as Mercedes can making any trip fun."

"So, Quinn. You're that boy?" He's, not sure what he's doing. I'm someone else's kid, but he's trying. And, like Kurt, he's wary of me, my reputation preceding me still - a reputation that has changed.

"Yes."

"And this ain't some scheme to bully my son, is it? Cos, you know, you call him 'lady' and you - well, you were pregnant. I'm sorry, but - and your tearing up so I think you're telling the truth - but Kurt's trusting and, wants more friends like him, and you gotta see how it looked from my side."

"I'm telling the truth. I swear. I only mentioned it because I didn't want to put Kurt in an awkward situation with you."

"Of course, er, kiddo. Don't worry, I'm a liberal guy, I accept everyone. May not understand some stuff, but whatever, I accept."

"Okay. Quinn's going to try out some outfits now."

"Wait, in your room?" Oh, wow, does he think, too?

"I'm straight, Mr Hummel"

"Yeah, but my son isn't. Door open, boys - or do wanna have your dress up in here? I'm sure Quinn wants more people to see, and I could give a much better opinion that Kurt"

"Hey!"

"Who wore a dress and heels to school last year" Kurt's face fell at his dad's reminder. He had a point.

"Well, with all the dresses I wore last week I think I really need your opinion."

"We all know that ain't the same, but come on, show me!" Burt is smiling and waving his arms and now that's two parents that aren't my own that know. Burt asks me if I want to watch a basketball game and Kurt picks up an issue of 'Vogue' (that ringtone's not changing now!) and sits in the corner with earphones in. I'm testing how showing different amounts of hair looks under my beanie in my phone screen, wearing some patchy jeans that only naturally suggest the packer in my boxers and a jumper with a printed letterman design over a black and grey t-shirt and binder, when there's a knock on the door. "That'll be Finn" Burt tries to push himself off the couch.

"Should I - leave?" I panic. Finn can't see me, not here nor like this. "I mean-"

"Yeah, Finn ain't as understanding. You could go to Kurt's room, or you could go to the kitchen and leave out the back. I don't know how long Finn'll be here, kiddo."

"That's okay. Will you tape the rest of game?" I ask, and Burt smiles.

"You really like it?"

"Yeah. I'd like to play basketball, but at least I get to cheer. Bye." I grab the rest of my stuff from the corner and Kurt takes me into the kitchen whilst Burt answers the door for Finn.

"Hey, Finn. Game's on through here." and I sneak out, texting Santana.

I stay at Santana's again, Saturday night, when my mom texted me

 **To Quinn:** i'll be out late at a meeting are you still with the girls?

Even my mom didn't bother with punctuation. And I know what kind of meeting that is.

 **To Mom:** ok ill stay at s's 2nit

"So, Finn nearly caught you as you?"

"Yeah."

"He on the last-to-know list?"

"Duh."

"Just checking, asshole."

Which made me think - Puck said to talk to Rachel. Well, I wasn't going to tell her because she might let it slip to Finn. But, I can pull the friend card? Yeah, I know loads more people than Rachel.

"Can I use your computer?"

"Yeah, why?"

"To instant message Rachel Berry"

"Er, why are you doing that?"

"She knows about trans stuff."

"I know we called her names like that - which, Q, we are going to stop - but, she's not actually, is she? Or do you have, like, meetings about-"

"Stop. No, but her dads are gay and Puck suggested it."

"Yes, and everything Puck suggests has always worked out just great for you."

"Really, Santana? Geez, I think it's a good idea, too, this time."

"Well, okay." She conceded, handing me the laptop as I fish out Rachel's email.

 **quinnfabray:** hi rachel

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** hello, Quinn

 **quinnfabray:** how r u

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I'm doing very well.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** may I ask why you're talking to me?

 **quinnfabray:** just wanted to talk wot u doin

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I'm currently compiling a list of solo choices for glee.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** are you alright, Quinn?

 **quinnfabray:** yeah y

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I only ask because you are using text-speak, though I suppose that is to be expected under normal circumstances I did assume, and I apologise for this presumption, that your typing would be no less eloquent than your masterful spoken command of the English language

 **quinnfabray:** gess u rong

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** yes, I see.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** Is there no ulterior motive for our discourse tonight, Quinn, because I really do have things I could be getting back to.

 **quinnfabray:** there is actually

 **quinnfabray:** its something -

Something what? Not 'personal', 'weird'. Maybe 'awkward'? Yeah

 **quinnfabray:** something awkward

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I shan't tell a soul. In your own time, go own.

 **quinnfabray:** i have this friend and i think u kno some stuff tht might help them w somthing

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** and what might that be, Quinn?

 **quinnfabray:** my friend wants 2 kno that stuff about

 **quinnfabray:** if a mind can be in some1 elses body

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** forgive the confusion, but do mean being transgendered - or simply not cisgendered?

 **quinnfabray:** ?

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** cisgendered is most people, it would seem; those whose mind fits their body. Transgendered is when the mind is of the opposite gender to the sex of the body. These are not the only two possibilities, of course.

 **quinnfabray:** right. of course

 **quinnfabray:** wot do u kno abt tht stuff? wot d u think of it

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** well, I know that it is not abnormal, and that many people who suffer dysphoria can become depressed. In addition, because of this, they should be given much support.

 **quinnfabray:** whats dysphoria

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** it's a feeling of sadness, I guess. It's the opposite of euphoria. In this case, specifically, looking at one's body and knowing it is not who they are inside.

 **quinnfabray:** is that like a medical name

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** It is a diagnosis, my daddy is a specialist. Your friend could ask him all these questions if he wanted.

 **quinnfabray:** how do u know its a guy

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I didn't mean to assume that. Only, Santana's father came over last night and said that one of Santana's friends is a transmale and may want to see my daddy about it.

 **quinnfabray:** oh okay.

"Shit" Santana said beside me.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** do I know this person, also?

 **quinnfabray:** not really

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** why did YOU ask me, Quinn. Where did you get my email address?

There was no reason to lie here, none at all, but I still feel like it might be best - but I can't think of one.

 **quinnfabray:** puck gave it 2 me

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** does Noah know this person, too? Why didn't he talk to me?

 **quinnfabray:** gud question ask him nite

That was lame, and very not-brave, and I haven't closed the chat window yet and Rachel will know that. After a minute of staring at the screen, a message came up.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** My daddy is very good at his job, and if your 'friend' ever wants more people to talk to I am very understanding and supportive. I hope you're having fun at Santana's, Quinn. Goodnight.

"I think she thinks she knows. Say goodnight, doofus, she's waiting for it - she's not closed it either."

 **quinnfabray:** goodnight. i'll tell my friend wot u said

"Well."

"Yeah, well. I think just let her stew and assume and she'll never bring it up, especially if she's not sure."

"Yeah. What's for dinner?" Dinner turned out to be Santana's mom giving me a hug, and pudding was a message from Rachel.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** there are movies on the subject that I'd suggest your 'friend' watch, Quinn, but if they are so shy perhaps you could watch with me and report back, instead?

"Do I say yes?"

"And watch a gay film with manhands? Have fun."

"I thought you were going to be PC, S?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, slips out. I actually blame you."

"Yeah. It's okay. Do you think I should? Because that would confirm it, right?"

"I don't think she'll fully have it confirmed until you just come out, dude."

"Yeah, so I should?"

"Go, but dress like a girl."

"Okay."

 **quinnfabray:** ok u free tomorrow

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** yes, I am, but don't you have Church, Quinn?

 **quinnfabray:** havnt been goin much

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** please tell me that you're not losing your faith, Quinn?

 **quinnfabray:** no but if th sermon is gonna b offensiv i dont wanna hear it

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** It is good to hear that your mother is more open-minded :)

 **quinnfabray:** er yeah so can i come

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** of course, perhaps my daddy can talk to you, too?

 **quinnfabray:** mayb

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I'll ask Noah to text you my address, how about 10am?

 **quinnfabray:** noon? i'll hav to go home 1st

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** do you not have a change of clothes at Santana's? You are at Santana's?

"You're doing a real shit job, Q."

"Shut it, S."

 **quinnfabray:** i hav 2 cya

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** you really can tell me, Quinn.

 **quinnfabray:** i said bye, rupaul

And exited the chat window with incredible haste.

"Wow, what happened to giving up the slurs, Q? Not to mention, flipping out and calling her a tranny again really isn't going to make her suspicious." She rolls her eyes and I just grab my bag and go change into my pyjamas again.

"Santana." I call from the bathroom, when I suddenly realise I don't know what to do with the packer.

"What?"

"Can I keep this thing in overnight?"

"What? Oh!" she appears beside me, in boxers and my pyjama shirt, in the bathroom "Oh, I dunno? You have to take the binder off, but why not keep that there? I would google it for you but the internet history shows on my dad's computer, and we're not asking him."

"Great. Better safe than sorry?"

"But you want to wear it?"

"Yeah. I know I'll be asleep most of the time, but, it's-"

"I think I get you. You could, you know, ask Rachel."

"Or you could?"

"She knows you're at mine, I don't know which would be worse."

"I just don't want to see her response to the RuPaul comment."

"You have to, Q."

Over the conversation, to keep my nerves at bay, I'd pulled my pyjama pants on and walked back to Santana's computer and opened a chat window, immediately receiving another message from Rachel to add to the one that was waiting.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** Quinn, I perfectly understand if I am jumping to conclusions and I apologise for whatever caused your defensive comment, in either case. Please understand that whilst I am now used to your transphobic slurs they are still highly offensive, and if trying to support a friend you should try to make sure that they are not an automatic response.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** Quinn, how are you? I'll let you finish reading the message I sent after you left the conversation.

Another came in as I read over the newest message.

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** Have you read the message?

 **quinnfabray:** yeh wow ur impatient

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** Do you have anything you wish to say?

 **quinnfabray:** i hav a question and stop jumpin 2 conclsions

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** I am sorry, Quinn, and I shall try to not assume anything from what you ask me.

 **quinnfabray:** gud. k. can u sleep wearing a fake penis

"That's not even crude, Quinn, you could really have creeped Berry."

"How was I going to say it to do that? It is what it is, I'm not gonna call it something else to make her freak, S."

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** As far as I am aware there is nothing wrong with doing so, but you should make sure that it is clean, not penetrative, and always check your personal area afterwards.

 **quinnfabray:** gross, manhands

"You know what, I don't think that she'd actually believe that you would have one. I mean, I wouldn't. So, she might think you are just asking for a friend she doesn't know."

"Great, San, but she hasn't replied yet so I've either really ticked her off with that comment or she's plotting. Maybe making a PowerPoint about how to come out as a man."

 **rachelbarbraberry*:** It was you that asked, Quinn, however I understand you may have wished for a less frank explanation if the advice is not for yourself. Maybe we can practice speaking without the slurs tomorrow, too?

 **quinnfabray:** yeah sure bye

"She thinks it's me, doesn't she?"

"It is you, you're just shit at hiding it." Santana was as frank as Rachel, but in fewer words.

Sunday, however, I got to wake up with morning wood - even if not really, it had just moved out of the boxers - and what Puck had once called an inconvenience made me smile until my eyes focused closer on the things that just didn't fit with what lay lower down and I remembered that I had to try and convince Rachel that I'm a girl - something I'd been pretty good at, really - without just saying it, which would probably negate the actual words. I also have to change back into what I was wearing when I left my house, then change into something feminine to see Rachel. My mood dropped again, and I think this is the sadness she was talking about.

"Hello, Quinn." One of Rachel's fathers says as he opens the door and greets me, the black dad behind him. "I'm Hiram, and this is Leroy. If Rachel talks about us, she'll call me 'daddy' and my husband 'dad'."

"Oh, great. I think she just calls me 'Quinn'. Maybe 'that bitch'." _I'm shaking hands with the specialist and I'm sure my palm is sweating._ Is what I expect would have fallen from my mouth if I hadn't been thinking about how 'that bitch' is what Puck said about me when he was saying he cared.

"She has never called you that to us, Quinn. 'That pregnant cheerleader' and 'Russell Fabray's pretty daughter', yes, as well as 'Santana's friend' last night when she asked if you could visit. We are aware of the teasing that you have participated in," Leroy, Rachel's dad, says and here reaches out to shake my hand - sweating again because, well, what he just said is putting it very lightly - "but you are always welcome." So, they're guessing, too? From the 'Santana's friend' comment, I think they're assuming from Rachel's guess. Or am I reading too much into this? Maybe they're just being nice.

"Erm. Thank you."

"Would you like to come in? Glass of water?"

"Please, Dr Berry."

"No - Hiram. How do you know I'm a doctor?"

"Well, Rachel mentioned you were a, er, specialist in trans stuff. So-"

"Ah. She does just say everything at once, doesn't she?"

"You know she does, Hiram!" Leroy responded, handing me a glass of water. "But Quinn here doesn't seem to talk much. Rachel's downstairs, you know." I nodded.

"You can talk to us, Quinn. We don't bite, you know." Dr Berry was asking me to talk. Right now? Or, like, as a patient - wait, of course not!

"I just don't have anything to say, that's all." I tell him and both Berry men give each other a look.

"Well, okay, but if ever, don't be afraid." And, I really don't think I have to do any reading into that comment from Dr Berry, there's nothing latent about it.

"I'll go find Rachel."

"Okay, er, Quinn." And towards their basement I run.

"Oh, hi Quinn. Did my dads intimidate you? They wouldn't mean to. Well, maybe they would. I'm sorry, they do know a lot about our history."

"That's okay," I take a seat next to her on a couch, "though they were being kind of weird about talking."

"Hmm. How did you sleep?" She turns to face me and leans in quite closely. I know where she's going with this, but I'm a pretty good actor so I can pretend it's a strange thing to ask me.

"Er, okay. You?" Her face fell. Good, I was fooling her. But didn't I want her to just, think it a little? And she could play me, like when she wanted to get me to show that Puck was the father. Were we both going to playing Devil's Advocate today? Oh, what was the point? Oh, yeah, she told everyone last time.

"I was, myself, in fact, slightly nervous about our interaction today. I am uncertain how to approach you from our conversations, and-"

"Just _approach_ me as you always have, Berry." She moved backwards and began to fidget with her jumper's hem.

"Would you like to work on your defensive tendencies and reactionary reversion to the use of slurs first?" She's scared of me, and I at least know I don't want that.

"Don't be scared of me. Sorry. I was telling Santana not to use, er, transphobic words but I did too." Now I'm playing with the hem of my dress. Is she- Yes. She's touching my arm.

"Okay. Oh, I'll-" Well, now she's not. Both her hands are now in her lap. Wait, where are mine!? Oh, one's in my lap- wait, dress. "Are you nervous, Quinn?"

"A little. Yes, Rachel." She's smiling and reaching out again. "What, that's good? You like that I'm nervous, manhands? Damn, sorry, your hands aren't manly. Unless you want them to be."

"You don't know what you're supposed to say, do you?" Well, the smile's gone.

"Have I disappointed you? I just, my father-"

"I know, Quinn. You sort of have disappointed me. I know you're trying, it's not even that, I just got my hopes up, for some reason, that maybe you were the 'friend' you were talking about. Then you wouldn't just be using me to help you help your friend, but you'd be trusting me with-" She looks so sad, I have to tell her.

"Rachel, stop."

"Sorry, Quinn. I know it's a weird thing to want, but-" She's smiling again now, but I can see it's bittersweet

"You really talk a lot, don't you. Just let me." Here goes nothing but a few deep breaths in and out, and she's waiting, and I can see hope growing on her face so I let myself beam back at her. "It _is_ a weird thing to want, Rachel. I wasn't going to tell you, so I'm sorry about that. If you promise not to tell anyone, though-"

"You are a boy?!" She jumps onto her knees and claps her hands together. I smirk, an idea springing to mind so I stand up. "Quinn?" And pull the bottom of my dress up enough to reveal the boxers that, sorry, but I couldn't pass over.

"Sorry for, well, not saying or anything. I don't want to feel bad about talking to me, but please don't tell anyone. I mean, you already got me kicked out of Finn's house, so I'd like to keep my own even if everyone else's dads have already offered me theirs."

"Wait, how many people know?" Rachel stands up too and makes me drop my dress. "Oh, and would you like some pants? A hoodie?"

"Please. And I don't want to be harassed by your daddy, either. Aaaannnndd, wait, seven, I think."

"Okay. You know, this movie isn't really nice, but I couldn't think of any other way to try and get you to open up. I know I probably shouldn't have meddled, I'm sorry. Do you want to watch something else upstairs or talk?" She offers, already on her way.

"As long as it's not all about me." I say, and follow.

"Wow, self-obsessed, much?" She's laughing.

"It's weird, nobody has really asked any questions. I guess I haven't told people who would take it badly. Santana's dad just told me to stop wearing Ace bandages-"

"I told you!" shouted Leroy when we arrived at the top of the steps.

"Dad, daddy, were you listening?" Rachel asks, pretending to be scandalised.

"No, honey, we just heard Quinn say 'Ace bandages' and, of course, I think I know what that means." They're all looking at me. Expectantly. I swallow. Do I tell them it was me that Dr López came over for? Well, do I _confirm_ it was for me.

"Yeah, thanks for the, um, binders, Dr- Hiram." I run my hand over my head and as soon as I look up I'm in a Berry family sandwich.

"Sorry, did we squash you?" Rachel asks

"And I thought the bandages were bad." I cough because, well, her dads are strong.

"I'll go get you those pants, then." Rachel says and her dads laugh.

"There was a plan, okay!" I blush as she heads off and go to settle in the Berry's couch.


	3. BritneyBrittany

**Welcome characters who speak more than they ever have on the show!**

Britney/Brittany

"...easy listening!"

Nuh-huh. As Mercedes would say, hell no. It _is_ one of the styles I'm better at singing. It is also, however, one of the styles I hate to sing and that puts everyone to sleep. Also, it's shit.

"...we do Britney Spears!"

...

Nice one, kid. Almost as good as the Lady Gaga suggestion from last year. But... Shue's not going for it. I really hate to say it, but everyone loves Britney. It's cool and it's fun and it's a little hot, too. I'm probably the glee club member most awkward about sexuality, and even having been pregnant nobody finds that strange. Yes, partially as a result of my upbringing and my persona as a frigid bitch, but I've never liked to see myself as sexual because, well, I have the wrong sex. I guess it seems pretty obvious that I can do _that_ and just do it to find out what girl parts are like and for the result, I've gotten over the idea that it's wrong, but that I can't talk about it and the experience never shows because it's awkward. Because it's with girl parts. Even with this awkwardness, however, I still like Britney; everyone likes Britney.

"...Brittany S. Pierce, Brittany S-pierce." Except Brittany. I forget her name and her objections sometimes - not nearly as often as Brit herself, but still. It first came up when she initially thought that Britney was one of the Spice Girls. Santana had to correct her, but now I'm fairly certain Brit still thinks that Britney is sporty and baby spices' child. Shue, bastard that he is, is going to jump on the objections and make sure we don't do Britney songs. It'd be super easy to question his argument - he's never cared if even half of us have been uncomfortable before, let alone one and especially let alone one who rarely actually performs - but what would be the point when he's so dead set I'd, and Kurt'd, just make him angry and get sent to counselling or something. He isn't such a great teacher that he's actually always objective.

There's also the matter of Santana. Her protectiveness of _our best friend_ has spiked recently. Since her sexuality has been questioned, she hasn't become defensive and laid off of being Brit's knight in shining armour but stepped it up with the implications that her wrath should be furthered should anyone question it more. She's really smart because it does actually make sense to do so if she wants their relationship to appear platonic. I also understand how, even being so accepting of me and supportive (if secretly) of queer people as a whole, she maybe hates herself a little. I was just the same. Even if neither of us are open to coming out, we have been practicing with Rachel on how to kick the reflexive slurs. We've been encouraging the Cheerios to, to be less homophobic and ableist, racist and discriminatory in general.

It doesn't stop them from being general bullies, though. Slushies are still happening, and just now (after yesterday's shambles of a glee meeting and an emergency one called tonight) Azimio and Karofsky are ragging on Finn for not being a footballer anymore. At least they now won't hurt Artie, giant steps from rolling him around in port-a-potties. Who cares if Finn's not on the football team, he's still popular except to those jerks that nobody has ever actually followed. He's been going around all the girls, not his own damn girlfriend yet, in attempt to make him feel validated. I considered telling him to just grow some balls before I instead laughing at the irony and making him feel worse. I do feel bad about that; I have deliberately made him feel that way before, God knows I wanted to actually be him most of the time we were dating and so punished him for that, but this time I didn't mean to and now I think he doesn't like me very much.

I didn't skip out on Finn's self-consciousness quick enough, though, because he gave me the memo about this meeting that we all have to go to for Mr Shue. There's a dentist. Apparently he's Miss Pillsbury's boyfriend, so we all know he's here because Shue's also feeling self-conscious. Do boy hormones do that? Is that a thing I should be worried about? Well, Puck and Mike and Matt (wherever he's gone...) never seemed to display any self-consciousness. Oh, well, Matt did when he thought people completely overlooked him. To say he's one of three black boys in the school (if he's still around) he _was_ ignored a ridiculous amount, and just put in a box as a dumb football player. Totally not true - he was awesome at basketball. I wonder if he'll teach me more about it? I'll text him, ignoring whatever dentist-boy (is Santana checking him out? I can't really judge his attractiveness, mostly because of the suit, but she's definitely overcompensating) is saying - until I get thrown a piece of gum. Thanks be to Sue for lightning reflexes. His smile is almost as bright as mine.

A smile that is perfectly healthy, too. Back to texting.

 **To Matt bball:** hey

 **To Quinn g:** hi

 **To Quinn g:** finally noticed i'm gone?

 **To Matt bball:** no i did b4 need 2 ask a favor

 **To Quinn g:** what is it?

 **To Matt bball:** can u teach me bball?

 **To Quinn g:** what? ha, have they finally got a girls team?

 **To Matt bball:** sadly no but i lik 2 play nyway i cud play w u aft skl

 **To Quinn g:** sure thing, when and where

 **To Quinn g:** well, the where's obvious. all purpose courts west lima

 **To Matt bball:** yeh how bout sat 12?

 **To Quinn g:** okay quinn. how is evryone?

 **To Matt bball:** idk. they wanna do britney in glee n th ftball getn btr

 **To Quinn g:** damn really? sad i'm not there for that!

 **To Matt bball:** but evrythn els sux mr than use

 **To Quinn g:** sorry to hear that. see you saturday?

 **To Matt bball:** cya dude

 **To Matt bball:** o hey can kurt cm?

 **To Quinn g:** yeah, u friends now?

 **To Matt bball:** jus yeh

 **To Quinn g:** see you guys then

 **To Matt bball:** yeh

"Kurt." I pull him back - gently, by his elbow - as we're all leaving with promises to get check ups at the dentist. Honestly, I haven't been to a dentist in years and my teeth are wonderful.

"Do you have to manhandle me so brutishly, Quinn?"

"Er, yeah?" I pause, waiting for the other kids to be gone. Shue's too distracted with his easy listening and Brad doesn't matter. "We're going to play basketball with Matt on Saturday."

"We?" he rests one elbow in his other palm, stalking back into the room but then dramatically spinning to face me.

"Hey guys, can you take this outside?" Mr Shue, probably not knowing who's talking and about what, gently instructs and Brad holds the door open for us.

"Again, Fabray," Kurt continues as we walk through the empty corridor, Brad behind us, " _we?_ I'm sorry, but I cannot and will not play basketball."

"Well, you don't really have to. I just want to be able to sometimes, so I might have to tell Matt. And you are able to support me, and maybe borrow a basketball from Finn."

"Tell Matt what?" Brad asks. What? I mean, I expected him to be storing everything about everything in his mute brain - it must be huge if he knows all the songs ever - but to be so forward to actually enquire about 'gossip' is odd.

"Nothing, Brad." I say, trying to scare him off with that cheerleader determination - the faculty here receive it more than the students. It's taken a moment for me to answer, but once I do we all stop walking.

"I notice things, Quinn. And I know some songs you might want to sing. You know where I am." Brad says, slowly, and smiles at us before putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and then moving between us so he's in front now.

"Yes, around. Just call if I want accompaniment." I say as we all start walking again.

"It's annoying, but I don't mind when it helps you kids. I care just like William." he says, and turns to the auditorium before I can respond.

"Brad's weird."

"We're weird, Kurt."

Three days later and all hell is breaking loose. We're three for three on glee club meetings this week without any music actually being sung, but Brittany has suddenly changed her mind about Britney. Now Shue has no argument, and Kurt is trying to use how Britney music gave Brit confidence in her singing as a reason completely for it. Apparently, that also had something to do with Santana feeling up her legs. I probably need to listen to entire conversations (but, again, with those two, I miss half of it even when listening) because that's all I'm seeing and perhaps I'm actually thankful for my current lack of ability to get hard. Even if they are my purely platonic friends (towards me, at least, mostly), we're not called the Unholy Trinity for nothing. And, no, it's not actually because Brit's pansexual, Santana's a lesbian, and I'm trans - unholy as that all may be seen to many religious people - but instead because we're all, and I can say this about myself, so conventionally attractive that (in Puck's words) 'it's gotta be a sin, and I wanna sin all over them. Together. Or just watch them.'

He's grown up since then. He also lends me a basketball kit, but doesn't want to come play with Matt because he ignored him all summer and didn't even notice he was missing. He's at least ashamed, but can't man up and apologise because he's trying to be all manly. I get that, but I don't really gave a shit about actual manliness because I know (maybe oddly, maybe obviously) that it doesn't make a man and I'm not self-conscious about being called a girl or a pussy. Perhaps that's because I'm expecting it, and also because having to accept that I am a guy has forced me to be completely certain, unthreatened, in my masculinity - because if I wasn't, I don't think I'd have let myself be me. It's too big a risk, especially for me and not even my family's beliefs but my own that I truly believe apart from what they gave me, if I'm not certain. It's too big a risk, even, if - even when 100% sure - I don't accept and embrace it. So, I don't think my masculinity can be threatened.

I can see Matt sat bouncing a basketball. It's Saturday and I'm sat in Santana's car - because she wanted to see Matt and still has a car - nervous about whether I can tell him or not until Santana and Kurt both drag me from the car.

"It's raining, maybe we should go."

"Nope. My hair's already wet, Fabray, and I don't let that happen for nothin'." Santana says as she pushes me through the cage door that Kurt's holding open.

"Hey, guys! You brought Santana, too!" Matt chirps as he gets up from sitting on what I now see is another basketball. "Oh, you have your own ball. I guess Santana and Kurt can play with this one if they want." Matt bounces the ball he's holding in Kurt's direction, but - accustomed to dodgeball torture - Kurt shies away and the ball just bounces and rolls to the cage, Santana bursting with peals of laughter. "Or I guess not." He giggles. Like a girl. I guffaw. Like a guy. We both stop and stare at each other.

"Wow, who knew Matt was more a girl than Fabray. Sorry, more a girl than Lady Hummel." Santana breaks the silence and Matt rubs his neck awkwardly. I'm surprised he can, he's let his hair grow out and it looks like it's on its way to being dreadlocks.

"Actually, maybe this wasn't a great idea, it's just how Quinn sounded in the texts-" Matt hasn't moved, but he looks like he doesn't want to be playing with the three of us. I guess it figures, we look like three girls though two of us aren't and two do like basketball.

"How'd I sound?" I ask, talking like I want so maybe he'll feel more comfortable staying.

"Like that, like a guy, and you wanted to bring Kurt. So I thought it'd be good to meet you two."

"Do you want me to go or something, Rutherford? 'Cos I could be with Brits right now." Santana's gone over to fetch the stray ball and bites out but then smiles at me and Kurt as she throws the ball back to Matt without looking. I absently hear it thud into his hands as she adds (dreamily) "We had an awesome duet and it was, it _was,_ super hot Fabray. I know you don't like girls, Kurt, but it was."

"Wait." Matt calls, returning from putting the ball down and clearly only having heard half of that comment. He walks over to us from the edge of the court and then asks. "So you, Quinn and Santana, like girls?"

"Well-"

"NO!"

We respond respectively.

"Obviously," drones Kurt, rolling his eyes, "that's two yeses. She'll deny it, but Quinn-" he draws out my name and I swallow so hard I can feel my throat bobbing. Huh, maybe if I speak now it'll be low.

"I'm not gay." Yes it is. Matt suddenly beams like he really wants to be here, and since his face changed before I hit the word 'gay' I think he worked it out from the pitch first. Well, Santana's mouth has dropped and she's staring at me.

"So, I was right? You're a guy? I pieced a lot of stuff together, and I'm not a big fan of basketball really, but I wanted to see you." He steps back a little now, excited. Kurt steps forward in my periphery and both he and Santana lift a hand to their face.

"Why?" Kurt and I ask together.

"Well. You wanna know why I left?"

"I don't really care to be honest, but I think I've figured this out." Santana stops checking her manicure. "Matt's a girl." she directs to me and Kurt.

"Yes." Matt says as she, I guess, steps forward again, sticking one of her hands out. "So that's why I left McKinley, I'm being homeschooled this year." Then, as I take her hand, "Can you call me Diane? I mean, my mom suggested Martha, because it's like Matt, but I prefer Diane. I'll call you whatever you like, too." Even with a broken voice, it does sound more feminine. I think she was trying not to let it before, but when mine slipped into its lower register she let hers become more breathy. We're still shaking hands but Santana pulls them apart and bats Diane's (which is going to be hard to get used to, probably for all of us) away.

"Call me Quinn."

"Aw, I was hoping you'd say something else, now my contacts are going to be confusing." She begins to move back to the balls at the side.

"Huh, why?"

"I know two Quinns, one I have a 'b' next to, and next to you a 'g' - for boy and girl. Obviously, that's not right anymore." Picking a ball up, she straightens and then throws it at me whilst I talk.

"You can keep it like that if it's easier, but I have 'bball' next to you in my contacts 'cos I know other Matts. Guess I can change that. You can put that in your phone, though. 'Quinn bball'?" I start to bounce the ball. She comes to try and get it off me and I shoot. Three points, but it bounces off the floor and Diane's so impressed and in my way that neither of us chase it before it heads towards Kurt and he squeals again.

"I'd call you a girl for that, Hummel, but those two would beat me up."

"We wouldn't." I say as I punch her in the arm.

"No, we'd get Rachel to lecture you on political correctness, instead." Diane adds, and even if Santana doesn't hate her so much anymore she will still act like that is the ninth level of Hell. Kurt looks at Diane odd, though, and joins the three of us.

"You know how Rachel would do that?"

"I was in glee club last year, and I am really observant. Hence my first suspicions about Quinn before." She puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes, but so softly even with the massive hands.

"And you couldn't have told me? Geez, you could have stopped a lot of confusion and a disturbing pregnancy." I joke, and letting myself be myself around these people feels so good I sincerely do wish I had known (or accepted and understood) sooner. The eye roll as I say it, sarcasm hard to suggest in my voice (damn it), causes them to laugh because - though they knew I was joking anyway, my personality freer - it's so fake dramatic. Kurt adds a 'well, darling' and we all laugh again.

We practice, even getting Kurt to take some free throws (kid is actually good at sports), and agree to meet again on Monday. Santana drives us straight from school and when we've played until it's too cold all four of us go to get milkshakes.

"Wait, let me go see my dad first." Santana says, making a quick turn down the junction we almost missed and throwing us all together in the backseat. She pulls up to the hospital - "I need to see him about the dentist." She adds, hopping out. Walking in, she waves at someone as they walk out. Oh. Rachel. Rachel, who then looks up at Santana's car and smiles before running over to us. Kurt, on the passenger side, rolls down the window and tries to talk to her, to no avail.

"Quinn, Kurt, how are you boys doing? Oh- oh. Hello, Matthew, I-" her smile fades when she notices Diane and turns to guilt. I would laugh, but she must feel like shit if she thinks she's just outed me to someone.

"Hi, Rachel. Please, call me Diane." Diane immediately says to quell Rachel's guilt.

"Oh. Well, hello, still. Is that why you're here with Quinn. No, that's, oh, that sounds so ignorant of me. Of course I don't presume that transpersons - or members of the queer community, as you are with Santana and Kurt - are of a herd nature," I nearly laugh again, but I'm sure I would offend her in some way, because she wasn't offensive but is so flustered being remedial, "I simply thought to suggest that maybe you are spending time together because of your - all of your - shared experiences and because you are most comfortable around each other. That brings me to wonder if-"

"Stop breathing on my car, Berry." Santana has returned. Obviously.

"Oh," Rachel takes a large step back, "I'm sorry. I was just saying, perhaps you would all like to have dinner with me and my fathers one night? It's-"

"A great idea Rachel." Kurt says before she can ramble on too much or someone can be too mean to her. "I'll liaise with you later. I think Santana's going to run you over, though, so."

"Yes, goodbye." Rachel cheers as she waves us off and Santana actually drives in the opposite direction.

"I wouldn't mow her down, Hummel." Santana seems appropriately pissed that he would assume that. "I don't actually hate her."

"You know, Santana, I've noticed you're a lot kinder and more comfortable when around Brittany or us. I'm not saying anything, but will you be joining us at a dinner at Rachel's?" Kurt is definitely saying something, but he only leans over towards the drivers seat, holding the passenger headrest and thoroughly invading my personal space, as he does so.

Santana scowls, "If she can keep her Venus Berry-Trap shut long enough to serve human food, I might. I'm bringing Brit-Brit, though." I smirk and Kurt looks knowingly to me and Diane as he sits back down properly.

After seeing Rachel yesterday, I did not expect. That. She's in the choir room, being perved on by Santana, dressed like Britney. Not like Brittany, not that it'd involve any more clothes, but like Britney Spears in the 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' video. I am inclined to agree with Santana (confusing as her compliments are) that she is looking amazing. Who knew all that argyle hid legs and a midriff like that? Who knew those animal jumpers were masking boobs like that? Who knew Rachel had the guts to wear all that to school? Apparently, Britney Spears is an ever-loving fountain of Oz-style confidence-bestowment. Where can I get some of that, though?

Seriously, do think Britney can give me enough confidence to ask for place on the basketball team? It worked its magic to get Artie and Finn on the football team. I don't know which is more surprising, but I'm happy for both of them. I also want to be happy for _me,_ though. Shue called another meeting (that he's late for) and Artie is explaining this success to us, and I'm not ashamed to say that I may be brooding in my seat. Rachel comes over to sit near me as Tina starts talking; I know she'll talk first, but I haven't turned to her yet because I don't know what about.

"Quinn, will you do me a favour?"

"What? Why?" Now I turn.

"Well, we're friends now?" She looks at me for confirmation so I nod, "and you asked me a favour before. So." She gnaws at her lip. So it's a bad favour, then. "Can you ask Finn out?"

"What!?" I whisper-shout. That's ridiculous.

"I mean, I know you don't want to get back together with him, whatever he says, and you're the perfect bait. To - you know, if he were to want somebody else now that he's back on the football team, it'd be you."

Ah. Now that Hudson's back on the football team Rachel's insecure. I honestly don't blame her, and she has valid reasoning.

"So, I say now he's worthy of me again he has to be with me?" That's... actually also good reasoning, there. He's prom court, and so bearding, material again. Hmm, I can imagine there's a way to make him feel obliged to run with me later in the year.

"That's a great idea!" Rachel's jumped up to hug me whilst I was thinking, "I'll go talk to him." Before she can drag Finn outside, Shue arrives to tell us that we _are_ doing Britney - 'Toxic', and I do like the song - for an assembly. Shue will be performing with us, I think, and I feel like this is going to make my skin crawl.

I was right. The costume, Shue's costume, Figgins' reactions. I'm just glad the fire alarm went off. Now, though, we're left on stage alone. Santana starts to drag me and Brit away to get changed, and we hear a "Wait!" that causes us to turn. Rachel's running after us, everyone behind getting the idea to leave, too. "So, Quinn. You'll ask him?" She really stopped me to ask that? I briefly look up from where my eyes had returned to looking at where I'm trying to stretch my top to be baggier (pointless, but still) to nod and see Rachel frown as I tilt my head back down. Santana pulls on my right arm again to get me to look up into her concerned face.

"Are you comfortable, Quinn?" Santana asks in such a hard voice. I don't want to shake my head, by my stiff blank frown is obvious, and she knew, anyway. "Grr, God, agh!" Santana's head turns to the rafters, mine to the floor. She was - what? - going to ask 'why didn't you say something' before realising I couldn't have; and it wouldn't have mattered anyway, with Shue's newfound bipolar disorder; and maybe I didn't know it would be like this; and it doesn't matter now to be angry about. So she's just angry. "Come on, let's go change." Santana pushes me forward and then uses her now free hand to push Rachel, too; her and Brit, linked pinkies, behind us with everyone else closing in tight.

There's one lesson left today, and I know that Finn will have to get some actual books from his locker during this lesson change if he wants to get out of the parking lot at a reasonable time. So I accost him, and do as Rachel asked. It's no bother to me, but I think she thinks it is, because I am as well a seasoned actor as her. I get turned down, and since Finn doesn't run to profess his love to his girlfriend, even now cheerleaders will look at him, I go to tell her instead. All the affection that could have been his is thrown at me, and she's gracious. I don't deserve any of her concern, or her graciousness, or that affection. I never expected I could get anything genuine like it. But it feels nice. Her hand on my arm feels nicer, still. Like the skin creeping from earlier, but warm, not cold.

 **note: I didn't have Matt choose 'Diane' because it's like Dianna or anything, but because if you look at Dijon and think of what girl name he's have that's what came to mind - it's also quite like Dijon, too. Also, imagine his hair like in Hairography or Bad Reputation.**


	4. Grilled Cheesus

**I got a really great review so thank you for how great you think I've written the characters. Which - disclaimer - I don't own beyond the plot. So, the episode was about spirituality and I wanted to add in this chapter how Quinn's beliefs fit in with his identity.**

Grilled Cheesus

"Hey, Quinn!"

"Finn, how are you?" _and why are you talking to me?_

"Supercool. Hey, you know all those times you made me pray and stuff? I think I did it right!"

No, no you did not. Finn and I have this rocky relationship where we barely tolerate each other but he really wants to be friends and I really need him to want that.

"See, I made this sandwich-"

"Cut to the point, Finn."

"Jesus lives in my cheese." However, the conviction with which he says that is really making me want to send him to some sort of hospital.

"No he doesn't."

"Wait, you're mad? Or upset?" Well, he's getting closer at approximating my emotions, "I thought you'd be super pumped to know where he is. Cos, like, you wanna marry him or something."

"What? No, I don't. Why would I want to marry a man?!" Oh, _shit._ I'm silently sending up a prayer (this is how you do it, Fudson) that he's not paying enough attention or he won't quite make anything of it. I don't really have enough time to finish said prayer because Finn has this habit of talking over me, and who cares what he made of what I said because he didn't actually hear it.

"Oh, sorry. I only heard like, what are they-"

"key words?"

"Yeah, those, when you talk and stuff." Well, good.

"Why are we still talking?" I don't want to accidentally say something else controversial, and I don't really want to hear something else offensive - to me or Jesus. I still have my faith, like I told Rachel, even if some people (cough, pastors) interpret our shared religion in a way I don't sometimes. I believe that God loves all Christians, and there's a reason for everything. It's part of my beliefs that actually gives me more confidence to accept myself, and all other Christians.

I don't think that whatever I say to Kurt it could give him any Christian faith, even if I convince him that religion is personal to everyone. Still, he's got to believe in something.

"How can you still hang on the Bible's every word. I'm pretty sure Saint Paul would stone you and be proud, Quinn!" There it is, sitting in his basement bedroom waiting for Burt to get in to watch the game.

"Kurt, religion isn't just following what a pastor tells you. I determine my own beliefs from a connection with God, and pray to Him to find salvation. The only thing set in stone - quite literally - with Christianity is ethics and morals, morals which have founded the tolerant society which tells people not to kill us!"

"How can you say that when anyone you go to church with would happily condemn you? Quinn, I know you're stuck in your faith because, I don't know, it helped you through a shitty childhood or something. You want to cling to it like a security blanket, or because you've already given up so much for it and you don't want it all to be in vain, but you can't and you shouldn't. It's just something made up and it's a lot more hateful than any high school bully."

"I know that religious communities as a whole have become corrupt. Honestly, hasn't everything? But if I didn't have my faith, I think I'd be a lot more uncomfortable right now - and not just because I'd be in a skirt! I wouldn't want to think about who I am, and I certainly wouldn't have had any reason to think that maybe I'm not sick or wrong. We're friends, Kurt, and if it wasn't for God I don't think we would be!" I'm about to cry, so I fall onto his pristine couch. He mellows, I can hear it in his sigh, before he rolls me into a sitting position.

"Please don't get tears on the furniture or the floor. Or, anything. Can I find you a tissue?"

"No." I say, and wipe my face in my elbow and then the inside of my calf just to be defiant. "I don't want your stupid atheist sympathy."

"Quinn, is it really that important to _you_. Has it really helped you that much?" Kurt leans into me.

"Yeah, it is. I'm not a Christian just because my parents are. My mom even said she wouldn't be offended if I wasn't, after I moved back and dad moved out. And - I promise, I don't hate the fact that you're not a Christian. Maybe I don't like it that you're an atheist, but I don't think I can sway you to join a Church or something."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asks, turning to face me, and I stand up because that kid grew over the summer and I'm not cool with him being taller than me.

"You've got to believe in something. There's got to be something that you have a connection with that you can trust and talk to, to build your own morals around. Something you understand and that will guide and support you. You've got to have something or else you'll be arguing with yourself like a crazy person over every tiny little thing and just going round and round until you are crazy."

Kurt swallows and stands up to look me in the eyes. "I've got my dad."

"Boys, are you down there?"

"Yes, Burt."

"Hey, Quinn," Burt sticks his head into view at the top of the staircase, "I'd watch the game with you but I'm feeling a little tired today."

"Dad, are you okay?" Kurt well, sounds like a girl. Bad thing to say? But, it's light and high and when Burt nods Kurt looks back to me worriedly. "I believe in Burt, Quinn. Did he sound alright to you?"

"Erm, not really? I dunno." I sit back down, not knowing why Kurt is so involved with his dad. I never had that relationship with mine, and I don't think I really want one with a man like that, but I still wonder what could have been.

"I know that you talk to God and Jesus, and the guys that died two thousand years ago, but I really want to keep my dad around for as long as possible. I need to be able to talk to him physical or else, like you said, I might go crazy. I believe in Burt, so I want to help him be healthy." He pauses and turns to stare down at me, "Oh, Quinn, I believe in my mom, too, but I don't have her any more."

"Hey, Kurt, don't cry. Okay, you can cry. But it's Friday tomorrow - new assignment in glee club! That'll be cool." He's still weeping openly, "Hey, it also means that you don't need to get in early because you make up for it later. You can, like, make Burt a healthy breakfast so he doesn't have to get food from the diner across from the shop!" He withdraws his tear stained cheeks from my jumper.

"That's actually a really good idea, Quinn. God give it to you?" He tries to joke as he daubs his face with a Marc Jacobs handkerchief.

"Now stop it. I could talk and talk all about my own beliefs right now, quote the Bible like I'm reading from it!" I smile back and we sit together, Kurt graciously putting the basketball on when I promise to not inflict any more 'Church-talk' on him. I do get to thinking if I could ever talk to my mom, though, about everything. If I could ever believe in her like Kurt does his dad.

I'm prompted to think and talk more about my beliefs when Mr Shue suggests songs about spirituality. Really, it seems like Finn controls this glee club, especially because Shue doesn't seem to care about Kurt's discomfort. I agree, some people at Church - and myself for a while, before I knew anything about myself except what my father's family expected of me - are awful about gays and women, and (presumably) people who claim they're neither when they physically appear to be both. I think Kurt's being sensitive about not wanting his dad to be a spirit, though, and that he still doesn't like churches because there are a lot of sheep in many of them. Especially the ones around here. I don't go to mine every Sunday, and Santana rarely goes. I'm pretty sure Mercedes' attendance is, for lack of a better word, religious - but it is a lot of singing, and less about Leviticus.

Puck, goodish guy he's become, diffuses the situation by singing a Jewish song that's not really about religion anyway. Still, I think it hits Kurt hard because of the subject matter. If he does believe in his dad instead of a god or spirit, then Burt - as I have seen, too - is benevolent. Kurt's already been worried about his health, and got sensitive over the implication that belief must be in spirits, so 'Only The Good Die Young' was sure to strike a nerve. It sure does with me when only two hours later Kurt texts me.

 **To Quinn Fabray:** can you pick up my homework from chemistry and music, and bring all the text books from my locker?

 **To Kid Gay:** uh yeah y?

 **To Quinn Fabray:** can you stay over too?

 **To Kid Gay:** ok whats up kurt

 **To Quinn Fabray:** my dad's in a coma.

 _Shit_. Talk about - not fate, but coincidence?

"I don't think it's a coincidence, Kurt," I say as I stroke through his de-gelled hair as we sit in pyjamas on his bed, all ready for an awkward sleepover. "I think someone's trying to tell you something." He pushes me to the floor.

"Gosh, can't you be considerate, Quinn!? Stop trying to push anything on me or make me doubt my whole existence and beliefs - you're really in no position to do that to people. I just wanted my friend here to tell me it's going to be alright, and to understand everything it means to me. I thought that was you." He dramatically curls up and falls into his pillows.

"I'm sorry, Kurt." I climb back onto the bed. When he doesn't respond I stand on it and jump up to fall down flat, something I wasn't allowed to do in that mattress commercial because, um, pregnant!, but looked really fun. "I'm here for you, dude. I shouldn't say stuff if I know it'll only hurt you."

"That's right." He says, sitting up. "You're a good brother, Quinn. I _wish_ you were my brother."

"Your dad's great, I kinda wish he was mine, too." I frown, and Kurt leans over me, examining me, before I scowl at him and he lies back down next to me. It's a long night of comforting each other about our respective fathers after that. I simply conclude, from talking to Kurt but drawing from my faith and how God ties into everything, just like how I'd talked out my identity with Puck, that my father was meant to be in my life for as long as he was and how he was to make me who I was when I left in order to build a future I truly want. And that he's not meant to be in my life any more, because of how much of a turd he is.

Monday comes, and Kurt's pulled himself together enough to get through a week of spirit songs. I think. He grabs me as soon as he sees me.

"Finn came over this weekend"

"And I need to know this?"

"You've got to promise me that you, being the craziest religious person in this crazy religious school, will try to get everyone to do less crazy religious songs. Finn left after ten minutes, thank GaGa, but he said he'd give me some cheese if I wanted." He's hissing and whispering and shouting the last part all at once, and clutching my forearm in a death grip. Some Cheerios approach, presumably wanting to trail behind me to morning practice, before I can concur that he's nuttier than Brittany.

"Get off of me, Lady GaGa, before you give me your disease!" I growl at Kurt, and I think I now hate myself again.

Swishing my ponytail from over my shoulder to down my back I hear Rachel mumble to Kurt "You know he didn't mean that." And I hate myself even more that these people are so good, and so good to me, and that they'll defend me. I'm not worthy of any of those right now, and I know I'll praying so hard, serenely, later that I can deserve friends like Rachel and Kurt.

"Contrary to everything I've asked before, I wish _she_ didn't care about anyone but _her_ self." Kurt bites back, spitting out the pronouns, just as we round the corner. It's bitter, and I know it's true. The last two years of high school (the first two years, too) I'd hear comments from people like Kurt and Rachel wishing that I cared about other people. Now he just wants me to care about myself, and whilst he was rightfully deliberately horrid, it's a very kind sentiment. He wants me to be able to be me. Logistically, it would be very dangerous, but I really think that, like Puck, Kurt's thinking about my wellbeing because he knows I feel constrained and trapped. Like my dad's locked me in confession and I can't leave until I've confessed something he can punish me for, knowing full well how claustrophobic I always had been. Kurt's not doing that, though, he's holding open the confessional door. He doesn't want me to figuratively come out, but the glee club is his Church and it could be mine, too, if I stepped out. He's wanting me to not want to feel the need to be a bitch, because he knows it wounds me just as much, if not more, than whoever it's directed at. Especially that last barb I threw at him.

"What can I do to help you forgive me, because I don't think I can forgive myself until then." I beg Kurt as I intercept him in front of the choir room.

"That." Kurt smiles, "That exact attitude is what you need to be forgiven. And a promise to never do it again. And that I can do your hair, because I know your efforts in styling are no more than Finn's, but you can at least-"

"Of course. Kurt, I am so sorry." I somber as I turn out of his way.

"I know, and that's why I feel sorry for you." He pulls me so that we're walking side-by-side.

I sigh, "I know."

Mercedes' song choice could've been better. Who am I kidding, I don't think there's really any song that could have been worse. Kurt storms out, Finn (who took my place next to Kurt because he and Burt are publicly close) chases after him, and Rachel decides they need a mediator. Mercedes leaves after them to try and persuade Kurt that he should accept the song because she believes in it so it'll come through even if he and Burt don't, and apparently Santana can't miss a second of drama so she drags Brit out to see what's going to happen. I think Mr Shue is about to say something when I give him a wave and run off on my own mission.

"Coach Sylvester."

"Fabray."

"The glee club have got to stop doing religious songs."

"Why not? I thought you'd love it."

"It's wrong, and it would torment Mr Shuester. He hasn't come up with an original idea since the start of the year, and if you shut it down he'd have no idea what to do with all the kids he just divided because of his poor choice of theme." So, sometimes I do need to be a bitch. I run this school through sheer manpower. Except there aren't that many opportunities for a man to be this cold? manipulative, socially, even if it's so much fun. I need to be a spy or something.

"Hmm. Okay, Q."

Sue comes back from Figgins' office having trashed a cabinet, so I think the equally bipolar principal said no. But when Santana and Brittany, who I know are still Sue's moles now that I'm supposedly all for the team, emerge, Santana smiles at me. She knows our spying corner, even if she can't see me. "Sue's trying to get your bum buddy to file a complaint. Figgins needs one, apparently, before he can shut Shue down."

"Shut Shue down." Brittany repeats, then tries again but mangles the words, "Like a brainteaser." She giggles and obviously neither of us has the heart to tell her that she means a tongue-twister. I wish I could tell Brit, but stuff like this means I can't.

Clearly Sue has her own motivations for also wanting to stop religious music, besides getting rid of glee club (which I don't think she wants so much) or at least hurting Shue (which I'm pretty sure she does). Kurt comes to tell me the next morning that he's filed a complaint with Figgins, and that Sue believes like him - she believes in her sister. I smile and he continues about how maybe Sue's not all that bad, and he understands how we, I, can spend so much time with her, because she does mean well. Glad he sympathises with her. I'm just closing my locker when I hear something I'm really not expecting from him.

"Have you thought about coming out to her?"

The locker slams and Kurt flinches, but my reaction is purely surprised. I'm not mad at him for asking, though he could have been a bit quieter, if he really tried, I'm sure.

"Are you out of your mind? She'd probably tell all the Cheerios and I'd have nowhere to get changed!"

"I'm not sure, Quinn, and she might let you wear slacks, as well, if you-"

"Kurt, I can't. I don't know what she could do. She's crazy, it's too risky." I say with finality, because it's true, before walking into senior literature and leaving Kurt in the hallway. We only share a few classes, because I made my mission to get as many credits as I could to try and get early acceptance to college. Preferably an Ivy League school, but anything out of state would be alright. Early acceptance means I can take more time off at the end of senior year, so I can do that hard thing I'm trying not to think about until I want to do it.

I don't know why everyone's so upset about not being able to sing religious songs, they weren't ecstatic in the first place. Oh, Shue. Whatever, it is a bit of a disappointment that I won't get to sing songs I know really well and could probably impress everyone with.

"Quinn?"

"Rachel. Berry."

"Um, Mr Shue specifically mentioned that we could sing religious songs outside of school and it gave me an idea."

"Oh, you've stopped. What's your idea?"

"Well, I was thinking that we could sing to Kurt's father, and -"

"We?"

"I was just getting to that part. Huh-hum. We, meaning myself, yourself, and Mercedes, as well as Finn and his mom, could sing to Kurt's dad - or you could all be present and praying for Mr Hummel's health whilst I sing - because we are all of different religions, or, well, denominations. We all have the same G-d, so surely at least one of us must be praying to Him correctly. Together, we could -"

"Okay, Rachel, breathe or we'll all be by your hospital bed, instead-"

"You'd really sit by my bedside, Quinn?" She's grabbing my arm.

"Um, yeah." I look down and cough, and she releases me. Why do people touch me to convey sincerity? "Well, okay, I'm not quite sure that you've got religion exactly correct, but your motivations are good. I'll join you, again, if you think we can help." God's got to listening and seeing this girl and how good she is; I really do want Burt to get better and it really might help.

Okay, maybe Rachel's prayer circle wasn't a good thing for Kurt to see. I still maintain that it was a good idea, but I can see how Kurt is disappointed that I still prayed for his dad when he's only concerned with the perfectly physical. Acupuncture. I don't see how that can help when Burt doesn't even know that he can't feel his body, and I want Kurt to at least respect the ways that we want to help his dad - it's not like praying could possibly be detrimental to his health.

Still, I can understand how Kurt doesn't want the help. I've rejected people trying to share in solidarity with me when they know nothing about what I've been through to get here. I begin to pay attention in glee club, which seems to have become songs-for-Burt week now, when Kurt gets up. He tells us about his mom's funeral, and now I understand. There needs to be respect for other peoples' faiths, like I respect his Burt-ian beliefs, but if he doesn't want religious help because he doesn't want it to help. For his own peace of mind, Burt needs to make Burt better.

Mercedes wants to talk to him, and I know they're girlfriends so I'll let them be. I hope she brings up that he can't just dismiss us all, because with other people doing things like that will really make him hated. We're sensitive to him, but the world doesn't revolve around him or Burt. Even if he doesn't want any divine intervention, he can't tell people that their beliefs are nonsense and he won't be around them. He'll get hurt. It may seem ironic, but I'm going to pray for him to become more socialised. There's hiding yourself, and then there's sensible restraint. I don't think Kurt really knows that.

Finn bounds in to the choir room as I'm trying to hear Mercedes talk to Kurt, and I think she was chewing him out for hating on theism in general. Finn's got a song. What a surprise. Everyone's gone back on their distaste for not being able to sing religious songs and are mad at Finn for singing R.E.M., even if it's only religious in name, not nature. I'd despair if I wasn't already despairing at Finn's song choice.

Kurt's abandoned me for Mercedes, and they apparently had a heart-to-heart after they went to church together.

"I guess you would prefer her church to mine. There's no singing or hats, and it's. It's very stereotypically religious." I pass the basketball to him and he just throws it right back.

"Sorry I haven't been around much recently, Quinn, I know you have a lot more - informed, and, objective, views on religion. But I really needed my homegirl, and I think she needed me. I think she wanted my acceptance to validate her beliefs." He says as I take a jump-shot.

"No, Kurt, she wanted you to accept her beliefs so that she can be friends with you. It's not like if you don't accept her being religious she's going to doubt it or, what, keep asking you to reconsider thinking that religion can mean things to people. If you don't think it can help other people she's not going to start thinking that, too, even if it's never helped her yet. It just means she'll be more distant with you." I stop playing, bounce the ball a few times, and then just tuck it under my arm and direct my words to him, hoping he'll get the message.

"Are you trying to be hurtful, Quinn?"

"No! God, no! I just need you to understand that to a lot of people, religion isn't fickle. It's their entire lives, Kurt, and if you tell them that you think it won't help, they'll tell you that they think it does right back. You've got to respect that. When they tell you they believe in something, you're not allowed to keep on trying to tell them that your beliefs are any more right than anyone else's. They're not. I'm not saying that people don't know which belief is right and that we can't tell, I'm saying that everyone's beliefs, even yours, are right. Just respect people." His face was neutral and understanding until I said that last sentence, now it's appalled. "Kurt, you can think what you want all you like, but people are not wrong about their own beliefs. That'd be like you telling me I'm a girl. It doesn't work like that." Now the face has dropped, finally I think I've got through to him, relating religion in terms that he can understand. "Yeah, you wouldn't like it if people said that because they didn't believe you're gay that you're wrong to believe you are. Thankfully, people don't really do that, so don't do the same to them."

"Oh, Quinn. I'm sorry. Have I really hurt you?" He asks as I turn and start dribbling again.

"No, I know you didn't understand. But you've got to learn before you go out into the world, Kurt. You've got to learn a lot of things."

"Do you want to visit Burt with me?"

"No, Kurt, you need him and he needs you."

"Okay," he says, walking to the bus stop, "well, you know where the spare key is if you need to use the facilities." He waves and turns back around, "And you know you've got to hold it, I'm not getting blamed for your pee everywhere like last time, Quinn!" He shouts and I blush. Anyone could have heard!

"Quinn?"

And by anyone, I mean my mom.

And by could have heard, I clearly mean did hear.

Kurt's eyes widen as he turns back around to see her, and I'm guessing mine do the same. Kurt walks right into the bus stop and I laugh until I feel my mom's hand on my shoulder.

"Quinnie, what did he mean? And is that the 'gay kid'?" She asks, and whispers the last part. I turn around to face her, maybe suggest we go home first, "Quinn, what are you wearing?" She snatches her hand away, wipes it on a doily-like handkerchief (probably just a doily) she procures from her handbag.

"Yes, mom, that's Kurt and he's gay. I'm in glee club with him. Are you okay with that?" Let's gauge her reaction.

"Well, if he's your friend, honey. I just thought he wouldn't be, because you never used to - I mean, you had the opinions of your father."

"Don't remind me, mom. Let's go home." I try to push past her and head towards her car - free ride - but she puts her hand back up.

"Did you - did you wet yourself, Quinnie?" She says the whole thing quietly, but I react a little louder.

"What!? Where would you get that idea from?"

"It's just, you're wearing these clothes - and what, um, Kurt, said about the bathroom." 'The bathroom' obviously mumbled through the corner of her mouth because there are certain words, not topics, that she won't say. Topics with my mom can get weirdly personal. I blush, though, I should've probably just gone with the pissing myself story. I look down but my mom says my name again.

"Quinn. I'm going to ask once, and I want you to be honest, and then I'll never bring it up again, okay?"

"Um. Okay?" I ask right back. I'm not sure what she's going to ask, like if I'm dating Kurt and do I know what gay means and that'll be awkward, so I don't know if I don't want her to ask. She takes a deep breath, and I think now may be the time.

"Do you think you're gay, honey? Because you know I'm perfectly okay if you are, Quinn." She's holding me by both of my shoulders, elbows bent because I'm only a bit taller, and looking me dead in the eyes. I take a deep breath myself.

"No, mom, I don't think I'm gay." She lets out a sigh, but I know I'll never do it if I don't continue, "Because I like girls." Her eyes dart right back up and search my eyes.

"Quinn, you do know what 'being gay' means, honey?" She whispers again, and it makes me smile, especially the scanning for people nearby before saying it. I'm at least glad she didn't do it when asking me; she's a good person, really, and I want to be closer to her.

"Yes, mom. Do you know what transgendered means?" I ask my honest question genuinely and in a hushed voice, because there's someone walking a dog across the street. My mom takes a few minutes - deep breaths I can tell are being counted as 10 seconds in and out - and watches as the woman gets to the end of the block, waiting for her to cross the road before she looks to the pavement and then meets my eyes.

"I think I do. Like boys who dress like girls?" She's trying to understand. I'm actually glad that it's now that she's found out, because I have all my religious arguments and comparisons ready in the back of my mind.

"Sort of. It means that I'm your son, but my mind is in a girl's body." That's as simple as I can put it. She takes another few seconds searching my eyes before she cracks a smile.

"I always wanted a son." It's weak, but she's tearing up and holding my shoulders tightly. I pull her into a hug.

"I love you, mom."

"Oh, Quinn. My Quinn." She holds the back of my head in the crook of her neck as she straightens up, then kisses my hair. "I love you, too, honey. I always will."


	5. Duets

**okay, there's not really going to be any more religion unless it's intrinsic to its context, but it was vital to Grilled Cheesus.**

Duets

That's... almost me. Sam, Sam I am, is close enough to what I'd look like as a boy that I'm enamoured, but it's also so painful.

"Do you think he's gay?"

"Kurt - hi, what?"

"Bieber - I've asked him to do a duet for the duets assignment. Do you think he's gay? I'm not sure."

"Well, I don't know. Have you asked him?"

"No! Gosh, Quinn, you don't just ask people if they're gay!"

"You totally asked me."

"Homeboy asked you what now!?"

"Hey, Mercedes. Yes, Kurt asked me if I'm gay."

"Okay, Kurt, honey, I think your gay-dar's malfunctioning and sending out false beams because you seem to think that everyone in glee is kinda gay."

"But, Mercedes. Oh dear GaGa - Quinn fix this!" Kurt shrugged off Mercedes and left her to watch me sceptically as I slam my locker. Damn Kurt.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, maybe we should talk." She wordlessly follows me back to the choir room.

"So, Q," she demands scarily - sassily? - "what's going on?" Is tagged on with a little more sympathy.

"I'm not gay, I don't think, really. I might be bi but I haven't really noticed any guys," Her eyebrows nearly shoot into her weave, "And that's the thing-"

"You need a hug, Quinn?"

"Huh?" I look up, and realise that in ducking my head from the awkward embarrassment Mercedes thought I was tearing up.

"Hey, boy, I don't care what you got going on all up all over you. You're my friend, Quinn. I've seen you at your best, and I've seen you at your worst." Maybe I am tearing up _now_. "Just - hey - just tell me I ain't the last to know, now - that would offend me." She smiles and jokes, knowing just how to make me laugh.

"No, not the last. You understand I don't really want you to tell anyone."

"Of course. Come on, I'm sure you have some super smart class to get to, and I'll run off to history." Mercedes leads me out, and then she stops me at the door. "You know, I always only saw people like - I guess, you - more like, drag queens. Kurt's fabulousness and Rachel's queer correctness rants told me that ain't true, but I couldn't imagine it really existing. So, thanks for telling me. I think I'm more okay with it, now, and I will be if I get to know you more again."

"That's really great. I guess, you're welcome."

"So, would you like to duet with me? It'd give us time for more bonding, plus my folks adore you." Mercedes asks, walking backwards down the hallway to the stairs.

"That'd be nice. R&B?"

"Of course. See you!" She turns around and I leave the doorway for my class.

* * *

"The blonde Adonis has agreed to duet with me. He's very chivalrous. I think I _may_ have come on a little strong, but he's very impressed with my voice and wants to establish himself in glee club with a win. Finn tried to tell him that he'd get bullied because I'm gay, but everyone else has paired up already."

"I haven't." Santana interrupted Kurt's brooding. "Mercedes agreed to sing with me, but she also asked Q here." She pushes my shoulder and I let myself fall from where we were both lying with out chins in our palms on Kurt's bed, rolling onto my back.

"Finn's right, though. Sam looks gay enough, and he's new, and he's in glee. Being seen - or, worse, heard - with you is going to make him public enemy number 1." I say, sighing and searching the ceiling for something to change the social structure.

"He's right, you know." Santana adds, "That's just how it is." She rolls over, too. "You've got to play the system." She pauses, "Sometimes I wish we didn't. But sometimes I'm glad for it. I don't know what makes me feel worse." Here, lying on Kurt's bed next to her, I get the feeling that Santana might not be coming out soon, but is certainly at least realizing - if not accepting - her sexuality.

"It should be acting like a bitch, dear. But I do agree, I'm sure everyone would be happier being out, though I don't doubt you both know better than I how you would be treated. That happiness may not last long."

"A-men" Santana raised her empty hand into the air in response to Kurt. "We need drinks." She added as an afterthought. It only took half a wine cooler before I stopped and promised to leave Mercedes for Santana to duet with so I could 'pussy out' of drinking. Drunk Santana reminds me of something, though.

"What about Brit?" I tap her on the shoulder.

" _What_ about Brit?" Santana turns to me, not in any state to think why I might be asking.

"Weren't you going to duet with her?" I ask, taking her hand to steady her but still being knocked onto the bed.

"Yeah, but she wanted to do a love song. Like, sing to each other about being in lesbians and I couldn't do it." Santana frowns from where she's crawled into my lap, and Kurt comes over to hug us. Though drunk Santana is a lot more out than sober Santana, I can't help but want to wait for her to want to be out, and I begin to frown into Kurt's shoulder.

"How about I get us some ice cream and we can all be upset at how much we want to be flamboyantly out but can't." He suggests, patting Santana on the back before retreating upstairs. I'm left consoling Santana when she suddenly starts kissing up my neck. I don't move, but sigh and move her neck back to free myself but not set her off.

"Sorry, Q." She says after looking right into my eyes for a moment, sobering up enough to realise it's not a rejection but she's in no state of mind. "Sorry for using your body. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Sorry about - everything." She begins crying again and clutches me tightly to her when Kurt walks back in with a pint of ice cream.

"I'll go get some more." He stage whispers over and I nod that it would be the best thing. I'm also needing it because I don't have a duet partner and really want dinner at Breadstix.

* * *

"Quinn!"

Rachel wants me to duet with Sam? I know Kurt eventually decided to "set him free" - his text said exactly that this morning - but Rachel helping him find a new partner? I did help him clean up after getting slushied, and he seems nice enough, but why doesn't he ask me himself? And I really doubt that Rachel just wants to have decent competition to get everyone working hard. Really, I suspect that she wants to pair Sam with me to make him look straight and be less targeted so that he'll be convinced to stay and we can go to Nationals, but she doesn't want to say that to me. I really want to spend more time with Rachel so she'll know that I'm not really easily offended, and I want her to be comfortable around me. I guess helping her out here would be a start.

Sam enthusiastically jogs towards me, and now I guess Rachel convinced him and was buffer to make sure I at least let him down easy when he asked rather than turn him off. Truth is, he was good and I very much want to be him, and I need a partner plus I want to get closer to Rachel. Planning to practice with Sam tomorrow, after some obligatory flirting so he knows I'm in charge (is my voice _really_ that high?!) I decide to message Rachel.

 **Quinn Fabray:** Hey so can I like come over 2night?

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** I'll have to ask my dads, Quinn, but I'm sure they'll say yes. May I ask why?

 **Quinn Fabray:** Just cos

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** Well, okay. You don't have to be shy about anything, Quinn, you know.

 **Quinn Fabray:** I know. thats kinda y i wanna come over a bit

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** Maybe we should use 'snail-mail', and then your beautiful eloquence will be preserved!

 **Quinn Fabray:** Uh, yeah but its really slow Babs :)

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** Humph. That was one of my jokes, Quinn. I suppose they still need improvement. My dads have agreed, and you can stay over if you want.

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** Quinn, don't you have a middle name? I can't imagine your parents would overlook such an important part of the identity process, even though it may be rendered irrelevant!

 **Quinn Fabray:** thanks i will stay

 **Quinn Fabray:** oh yeah i kinda do

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** I'll ask my dads to buy midnight snacks! Why is your middle name not listed?

 **Quinn Fabray:** it doesn't matter

 **Rachel Barbra Berry:** Oh. Well, okay, Quinn. I'll see you tonight!

 **Quinn Fabray:** 5, pretty girl ;)

As I close the text window, I do a double take and have to reopen it. What possessed me to send that? The icon flashes that Rachel has now read it, and there's no going back. I turn my phone off, not wanting to know if she responds to the - compliment? And winking face.

* * *

"Hey." I walk into Rachel's home, after she texted me saying to just come in, her dads were out getting take-out and she was watching a musical.

"Hi, Quinn! How are you?" she bounces on the couch, enough to even make her spin 180 degrees so she's peering over the back and staring at me.

"I'm okay." I add cautiously, she seems far too excited to see me.

"That's great, I'm doing well, too! Just so you know, I'm overjoyed that you asked if you could come over, and I believe that now is an appropriate time to enquire as to why you wanted to. I must reiterate that I'm not displeased or in any way put out by the company, but - oh, what's the matter?" I think my brain melted at what sounded like she was reading aloud from a thesaurus at 100 goddamn miles an hour, and clearly my face was proof enough that said brain had lost enough capacity to hold it up. All my facial features dropped because of incomprehension and it took me a minute, still being scrutinised worriedly by Rachel's doe eyes, to even force out:

"Normal people words, Rach."

"Oh, sorry." She shrunk back, disappearing below the lip of the couch and then turning around to resume her viewing. Still, she patted the spot next to her and I happily joined her. "Er, why did you want to come over?"

"Honestly?" I turned to her, and she simply nodded. "There's a few things: first I think we could work together at choosing a song for me and Sam to do - his musical knowledge is limited to Top 40 and most of those are solos or groups, but no duets." She nodded, and opened her mouth as if to start a spiel of what I presumed was a pre-planned list of songs she'd already compiled that she deemed perfect for the pair of us. I silenced her with my eyebrows, and added on "I'm not doing a show tune, though." She dramatically sucked her lips in and nodded along, leaving her lips in that weird position, perhaps it took actual physical restraint to stop all of her ideas flowing sometimes?

"Also, I'd actually like to be your friend. So, there's that." I really didn't know how to expand on that point without listing off what might sound like forced friendship bonding playdate ideas. Still, her lips ripped open into a toothy beam. "And, I want to know why you really want me to sing with Sam." Here I paused in trepidation, Rachel did look wary. "Seriously, if we're going to be friends then you should tell me this - don't worry, you can also know that there are some things I'm not as sensitive about as I am, well, the things you've seen me get sensitive about," she giggled, "so, yeh, Rach, you can tell me if it's to make sure Sam looks straight so he doesn't get scared and leave glee. It's not going to hurt me, I know what people think of me and it's not like I haven't actually done it myself before." - totally true, well maybe I wasn't dating boys as a disguise, but I have dated boys, and I knew what I was doing when I didn't like them but I was using them. Rachel looks like she's really considering something, as I'm trying to work out how exactly that equates, before she breathes out heavily and smiles.

"And people say I talk too much." She turns back to her TV.

"Come on, Rache-" the door opens, cutting me off. Rachel's dads are back with some Thai food.

"Quinn! It's lovely to see you again." Hiram shouts, dumping the food he was carrying on top of the boxes in Leroy's arms and coming over to shake my hand, pulling me up as he does.

"Dr Berry." I nod in greeting.

"What have I told you? Come on, take your shoes off, get comfortable!" He calls animatedly as he runs around, taking the food back off Leroy - who has yet to move from the door - and cleaning off random surfaces, moving things, and taking his own shoes and coat off.

"Good evening, Hiram. Good evening, Leroy." I respond and add, Leroy now nodding at me as he carefully puts down the food he was carrying and calmly returns to the door to take off his own outdoor clothes. They're really interesting, and I do wonder what it would be like to date a vibrant, sensitive boy. Flying fish, do I need to work out my sexuality? I know I don't like all the jocks I've kissed - three. I did like it when cheerleaders have kissed me - two. What about non-jocks, though? My ideal boy would be - I'm not sure. Oh, do I need to talk to Kurt.

"You okay there, Quinn?" Leroy asks, now right in front of me, and encases my delicate shoulder in his large hand.

"Yes, sir." I choke out gruffly, my throat having dried up with my intense thought.

"Come and sit down again, we typically have dinner on trays."

"Ah, great." I say, following behind him and shooting off a request to meet with Kurt soon as I do.

We eat silently, watching from halfway through a musical and so I'm really just paying attention to the songs, not knowing what the story really is, until Hiram has finished his wine and then looks up at me meaningfully, putting his box down on the coffee table.

"Quinn, I would like to know if you would like to be taken on as a patient of mine. I'll explain why, if you like?"

"Er," I'm shocked, and put my own box of takeout down as Leroy and Rachel do, too, "yeah, go on."

"Well, if you would ever like to, ah, _transition_ , that is, receive treatment-" he sounds professional, like he's flipped a switch, but I still feel awkward

"I get it." I cough after my words.

"Yes. So, if ever - and you may not think so now, you might now, but even if not then at any time in the future - ah, basically, you have a much better chance of being accepted by medical professionals as a legitimate case and for treatment if you express your position rather young. You're 16?" He doesn't even give me chance to nod, "Yes, even just creating a file or adding a note to a private specialist's records at your age now is probably the best time, actually. And, also, of course, there are waiting lists and certain periods of time over which you have to be assessed and whatnot before we can do anything for you, so. Well, at least just officially making a note right now would at least keep your options open, whatever you want now or in the future."

"Oh. A lot of information. Thanks." Hiram smiles graciously, Leroy puts his hand on my shoulder and Rachel beams at me. Is she, like, getting off on this or what? "If you, I guess, advise it. Like you said, just to make sure I always have options and stuff. Then, yeah. I don't have to like, go to meetings or have appointments with, like-" My speech starts speeding up, nervously.

"Quinn. Hey, no, you don't need to do anything until you want to. There's no obligation after becoming listed at the clinic to do anything, it's on you to call up and ask, or you could tell me and I'll arrange it for you. There's also a simple support hub, and out of one of our waiting rooms we run the nearest LGBT plus community group. Maybe just start by talking to people, and see if any of their paths sounds good for you?" Hiram dictates again, whilst also getting up and crossing to the freezer, pulling out some rocky road ice cream and bringing it back to the table. "Rachel says she's only ever seen you have rocky road ice cream, and Noah confirms that you really did like it, er, _last year_." He winces, now, pushing the tub to the middle of the coffee table with three spoons on it, when he realises he's trapped himself into having to bring up my pregnancy. It's still just weird to think that I have been pregnant.

"You can bring it up, you know." I assure him, "I was pregnant, I'm a mother. They're not really ideas I find easy to associate with myself, and when I see pictures it still doesn't seem like me until I force myself to acknowledge it, and then it feels wrong, but they're facts. So, you know, don't worry about mentioning it. It seems like a distant abstract, almost like fiction, so I'm not massively sensitive to it in that way." Both men look hesitant, then smile.

"You're very strong, Quinn, and mature. And you do seem to have a strong sense of self in many ways." Hiram says, grabbing a spoon and tossing the other two at me and Rachel as he pulls the ice cream lid off - Thai food forgotten. "Oh," he stops, the lid halfway off and tub held sideways in front of him, "do you know a lot of your medical history? It's just, to register you we'd either have to request your records from the state or you could fill out a declaration form, what would you rather? It's a lot quicker to fill in the form, and your regular doctors don't have to know until any treatment is confirmed that way, but if you don't know-" I can see where Rachel gets the rambling from.

"Oh, I think I know everything." I cut him off, and smile. He finishes taking the lid off, and passes me the tub for the first scoop, saying

"Well, that's just great, then." as he does so. I pass the tub onto Rachel, and as I'm licking my spoon clean he adds, "In fact, I could print off a form right now. If you want, fill it in and we can get you registered as of tomorrow." Wow, this all seems really quick. I guess as soon as you open the can of worms, no matter how long they've been in there, they will wriggle out as quickly as they can. Once you set the ball rolling, I guess.

"Erm, yeah. Do letters get sent out and stuff? Does it cost much?" I try and produce as many questions as possible, almost with the hope that something will come up that will mean I have to turn it down. Leroy, slowly eating his spoonful of ice cream sat next to me, seems levelheaded about this but Hiram and Rachel are oddly excited.

"Yes, letters get sent out if there is anything to send, but they can always be referred to the centre for patient collection instead, if you don't want them going to your house - we know privacy is a dear, dear, thing. And costs can be wavered by your doctor in circumstances - not there are many - and you do fulfil any criteria for that privilege, Quinn." He smiles, and returns towards the couch from where he had hopped up to run to the printer, "I have an FAQ leaflet if you'd like? Actually, I'll get you the whole pack. Oh, they have the forms in, too! No need to print one!" he begins to run off again, presumably to a drawer or briefcase in his home office. Once disappeared around the corner, Leroy turns to me - passing the ice cream over to Rachel - and death grips my shoulder again, laughing.

"He's just like that, I find it amusing. You look like a deer caught in the headlights." Then he motions for Rachel to give me the ice cream. I'm happy that her dads like me, too. And I do think it's helping us become friends from everything I put her through.

We finish watching this musical as I absently read some of the information Hiram gives me and fill out the form. I've even memorised things like my social security from when it was one of few things to read cooped up in that hospital bed. I still keep it secret from them all, for the reason that has Hiram peering at me strangely and in understanding over his glasses when he glances at it as I hand it to him. He nods and murmurs a thanks, this just after the credits roll and Rachel then jumping up, clapping and squealing like a tuneful seal.

"Great, come on, Quinn." She drags me up, and heads towards a part of her house I've never seen before.

"Behave, kids!" Hiram calls, and Leroy laughs at this, I also hear the channel changing as I give a bit of a wave.

Rachel accosts me as soon as we reach her bedroom - I'm still taking in how surprisingly normal it looks when her face fills my vision and she says "Lucky." I contort my face in confusion, and she elaborates. "It's a song, and it's perfect for you and Sam. See, it's at a pace you sing well at, and I think he will, too, from his audition. Also, both Bruno Mars and Colbie Caillet's parts are at very similar pitches, so you could make a case for singing either part if you wanted to - maybe say the originality or something would impress Mr Schue. And, I mean, Sam's already done a Bruno Mars song, so he could change it up. It does fit both your ranges." I just nod, though her speech was slow, because I want her to move so my vision isn't blurry and I can leave the doorway. "Hey, I'll play it for you."

It does sound like it would be great. I IM Sam to listen to it, he apparently doesn't have a cell phone, and am about to suggest that I take Bruno's part - there's not massive difference, but just having the man's part (even the thought of maybe having it) makes me feel a lot better than not - when he replies that he likes it and can't wait to sing Bruno again. I say 'OK', it'd be weird now if I replied that actually I was thinking of doing that part - and maybe he wouldn't perform as well if I took it off him? I'm used to being shunted into the girl parts, I'll be fine.

* * *

Kurt still hasn't texted me back when I meet with Sam the next day to practice - he said he'd try and learn his part, and he could play guitar to go with it, too. In fact, I'm thinking about Kurt when Sam tries to kiss me. I was irresponsive to his flirting, and he doesn't seem like a jerk so maybe he's just a bit slow and thinks that singing together gives up chemistry or something. If he's ever watched a musical with Rachel or Kurt he would. Of course he runs after me and asks why I keep giving out different messages, but I don't want to or know how to explain myself (or what there is to really explain) - or if he'd even understand - so I just leave and say that we seem to pretty much have it down as I do.

I think he must understand that, at least, right? He's a nice guy, and he doesn't seem stupid. Still, at lunch Rachel comes up to me to convince me into singing with him again. She starts the talk she gave me before, but then in the bathroom I get her to tell me that Sam went to Kurt to ask to be duet partners again, because he thought I meant that I wasn't going to sing with him any more - Kurt told Rachel and Finn, obviously. I don't want to make Sam feel stupid, I know feelings like that sadness would be, and so I instead tell him that I'll take him back. Leaving the classroom, I notice Brittany pushing Artie's wheelchair and look over to see Santana looking sad. With all this Sam drama, I've been ignoring by partners in crime - I suck. I make a note to talk to Santana later - add her to the list of Puck, Kurt, and Diane - because my phone starts ringing. I head back into the classroom as Sam's coming out, he holds the door open for me even though I reach to grab it for him. Stupid height difference.

It's Hiram, saying that he put in the form this morning and I'm all registered and he's ready for whatever I need whenever I am; he's also calling from the clinic number so I can save it if I haven't already. Leaving with a smile on my face, I bump into Rachel as we head towards glee. She asks who it was so I tell her. She does her little clap thing again and attempts to side-hug my middle. It's awkward and I use the hand she's suffocating to push her off. Still, she's smiling and says sorry.

* * *

Though Santana and Mercedes seemed like they were the going to win, me and Sam do - by only two votes, though, and from Rachel and Finn's terribly hidden smiles I'm guessing it was the star couple that voted for us (was Mr Schue not suspicious when he realised that not even Rachel voted for herself, even with that disturbing performance?) Singing with Sam did seem kind of flirty, but I was just acting through song - I think Sam thought it was more, though, so as I'm driving him to Breadstix that night I insist that this is far from a date. He agrees, and mutters that it really can't be because I'm driving him and taking charge. I'm even following the proper highway code and making him sit in the back because he's only fifteen and I'm not over 21.

Conversation isn't really flowing, probably because this isn't really a date and Sam isn't really that happy, so I'm eating Breadstix. That is, until he seems to suddenly remember a bunch of small talk short conversation starters. He mentions having a secret you don't want anyone else to know and, I'm sorry, I'm curious.

"Wait, so you- you are gay?" I do make sure it's a whisper - this is Lima.

"What? No, I dye my hair." We laugh as he explains, but I think I can take a chance here.

"Um. I am, though." It takes him a second to understand what I meant by that, and then his face falls.

"Oh."

"Well, not exactly, I guess. Sam, don't freak out or like tell anyone but. I'm a boy." He slowly looks up, shock marring his features. "And I also dye my hair." He cracks half a smile at that, but it quickly returns to surprise - just surprise now.

"I guess I might be a little gay." He says, and I raise my eyebrow. "I don't know, Quinn. I like you, so maybe I'm flexible. I-"

"Hey, you're fifteen. You can work it out." I tell him, and I try and tell it to sixteen year old me, too.

* * *

 **So, sorry. Some of you have heard the tales of woe about the internet service and the nephew, but I'm so sorry for how long this took after the others being so rapid.**

 **Also, at the end, you can imagine the rest of the Breadstix conversation happening if you want, and what I added as a cut bit in the middle - or you can pretend that Quinn never told Sam it was a date. Either work fine for the story, so I cut it off there.**


	6. The Rocky Horror Glee Show

**getting better? And happy 40th Anniversary to** ** _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

I look up away from Sam's monster impression when Mr Schue enters the choir room. Sam's pretty nice - he's charming and he doesn't in any way emasculate me, so we're getting along fine. Sometimes his eyes do work quicker than his brain, slow boy, and he forgets. Sometimes he doesn't, though, and still tries it on with me. I know he's 15 and confused about his sexuality, but all it's doing is making me very - very, very - confused about mine. After the obligatory Rachel-and-Schue discussion, our teacher announces that we'll be doing The Rocky Horror Show for our school musical. I can feel Santana's eyes burning into me, her being one of few members of our group outside Kurt and Rachel that I expect will have seen the show - even though I expect Schue will want to base it on the film, in any case.

Rachel immediately snaps up the lead roles for her and Finn, not that there's any question that they aren't perfectly fitting for those two weirdos. I hope Rachel's remembered that they both are going to have to strip and kiss other people. Wait - what the heck is Mr Schue thinking? I immediately disregarded the content of the play so it couldn't be sensitive, probably why Santana was checking up on me, but now that I think through it all, it's really inappropriate. Once the roles have been handed out - auditions something he's quickly forgotten for some reason, as if this show needs to be ready asap or something - he wants those who know the show to discuss characters with everyone else. I latch onto Kurt's arm.

"Hey, buddy" I snare at him with false sweetness.

"Hi Quinn?" he replies in trepidation. I don't actually not like him, but he's now the only one on my list of "pretend-to-hate-and-scare-the-living-crap-out-of-for-doing-something-you-don't-like-but-can-get-over". In short, it didn't so much bother me that he seemed absolutely disgusted at the idea of people crossdressing, or that he said (basically) boys shouldn't dress as girls if they want to actively show their natural gender off - in many ways, actually, his reaction was highly implicitly transphobic. Actually, I am pissed at him. I just thought it was kind of a dick move and I should scare him for a few days, but no. He has very much made my "be-evil-to-until-they-are-grovelling" list.

"Let's go inform this lot about Frank." I growl back. He's in the shithouse, and I hope he knows it. Santana can clearly see this and, forever supportive of me over him, she grabs my other arm.

"Hey, Q. Maybe Kurt should just help Finn over there-" she lets drip bitterly off her tongue. Whilst I'd have appreciated it's razor bite, the sourness with which she says this definitely tells Kurt that she's saying he's not qualified to inform anyone about Frank. And, Finn looks very confused at what Rachel is trying to explain to him "- and we'll join the girls to divide up scenes for Magenta and Columbia." She drags me over to Tina, Mercedes, and Brittany.

"Okay" Mercedes starts, "ya'll know I ain't much of a dancer, so I was thinking that Brittany should definitely be one of the Columbia chicks. She's the dancing one, right?"

"Yeah, and Quinn should definitely be Magenta for the Time Warp because she can sing kinda low and do the voice like in the movie" Tina adds. Maybe more of these guys have seen the movie than I thought.

"Shall we pair up?" Santana asks "So, like, we'll keep swapping. Maybe I'll be Magenta when Britt is Columbia. Tina can be Columbia for Quinn. 'Cedes can swap out with Magenta for some of the lab scenes. Do you remember those?" She suddenly asks, realising she's dictating her sudden plan to us. A few shrugs, blank looks, and shaking heads, lead her to continue "You'll know what I mean. And when we're not 'on' as the characters, we can be conventionists."

"Perfect timing!" Calls Mr Schue as he appears behind us, planting his hands on mine and Santana's shoulders, facing the other girls. "About the Transylvanians, ladies," me and Santana turn to face him, and he pulls a chair out to sit down on, "For costumes, we're wanting to represent both the female and male Transylvanians. As all the boys have parts, when some of you are playing them you'll be in a suit modelled after the male characters. Now, there's not much difference, but with the hat and the hair, you'd probably look very - uh - masculine. So, if you-" he stops and scans us. Santana looks disgusted and rolls her eyes, but I know her motivations (unlike Kurt, and this suddenly reminds me that I'm mad at my friend) are that she thinks he's a moron because it could have been really uncomfortable, and he wouldn't have known. Like, he should have thought it through rather than just telling a bunch of hormonal teenage girls that he is going to dress them up to look like men and they have no choice. Santana knows it's no problem - once she glanced at me from the corner of her eyes - but Mr Schue didn't know. He is a moron. Much of the other girls' expressions say they are shocked, but want him to finish his little spiel, and I'm smiling. Settling on me last, Schue himself looks confused, and then finishes, "So, actually, um. Any volunteers for the male suits? So I don't-"

"Me." I say. He'll only need one, there aren't that many of us. The confusion from when he saw my face deepens and then turns into something resembling suspicion.

"Well, that, er, certainly -" He eventually settles his face, but still remains awkward. He's always been awkward broaching any topics in informal environments with 'volatile' teenage girls. As if to say he shouldn't, but also criticising him for his lack of foresight, Santana interrupts.

"Saves you? Great, Mr Schue." Santana dismisses.

We're dividing up the songs between us - Santana wants to be The Lips and all out fought Kurt to be able to sing the part, too, whilst I was handed Time Warp on a silver platter, Brittany and Tina relenting to sharing the spotlight as Columbia in it, and Santana begging for Touch-A-Touch-A from Mercedes, ultimately winning out with the reminder that it gets pretty touchy (duh) between the girls and everyone would be more comfortable if it were her with me or Britt. Britt then pouted at me for it, so I got given Eddie's Teddy and the Time Warp reprise. It was fairly working out, Britt and San saying that they should get to be 'on' for Sweet Transvestite, too, because it was sexual, the one thing we were still arguing about when the bell rang. I was about to head out with Santana, outright ignoring Kurt and letting her glare at him when he approached to wait for us, when Mr Schue called me over.

"Yeah?"

"Um..." Mr Schue swallowed, and then clearly changed his mind about what he was wanting to say. "So, we'll need your measurements without, um, ah-" So close. He started off leading into his new sentence with confidence, then clearly approached something awkward. I was lost, though, and couldn't help him out, until he suddenly looked determined. "Yeah, for the costume, Quinn. I'll ask Miss Pillsbury to make them so you'll probably go in for fittings with her, but for the male suit would you mind if the shirt was very tight? So, measurements without your breasts?"

"Yeah, sure. In fact, I-" No. Damn, I was about to suggest I could sort that - given I use binders, but then I thought that I can't yet mention it to Mr Schue. Which is also really damn depressing. "Er, yeah. Of course."

"So maybe wear a sports bra?" He smiles, a mix of that scepticism now returning with some realisation. Wait - is that what the look was before? And probably why he called me over? I must be suddenly terrible at hiding.

"Yeah" I smile, because I wear a sports bra everyday for cheerleading. I could wear a binder, I suppose, now that I think it'll be with Miss P, and she's got to abide by confidentiality because she's a counsellor. Sort-of. Hey, maybe we could bond over our mutual disgust at menstruation. She's pretty anti-ick and all icky stuff, so we've always expected that she tries to ignore her body during its monthly cycle whilst cleaning it up the best she can and practically living in her shower.

A silence nearly grows awkward when Mr Schue again looks like he's about to add something, but then just says "well, bye" and lets me leave.

* * *

Mike announces that his parents are uncomfortable with him playing Frank. He looks really sad, and now Mr Schue is up in arms about who can play him. I'd honestly volunteer if not for the fact that I don't really want the main part. A lead part, yes, but not the main part. And maybe not something so awkward. Mercedes immediately jumps in, and we all give her smiles of confidence. "Don't dream it, be it." That is good advice, as useful as it isn't necessarily always. With the cast re-established, Schue hands around the sheet music for "Sweet Transvestite". Flicking through my parts, I notice something odd.

"Er, Mr Schue" I raise my head from the sheet and continue, "Isn't the line 'Transsexual'. not 'Sensational'?" He's obviously changed it, but I'm not going to outright ask why.

"Ah, Quinn, yes it is. But," he swallows and looks at all the eager faces, "it's just, this is a public school show and keeping that word in might be a bit, er, taboo?" Is he asking my approval? He's been all over the place recently, it must be something up with him and Miss Pillsbury.

"But you've kept 'transvestite' in, how's one different?" I fix him with a glare that means he can't bluff. Santana smirks a devilish way by my side.

"Well." Mr Schue pauses, and then takes another look around to the rest of the students that seem to have lost care for this. "May I see you two outside?" He now directs to me and Santana firmly. I stand up and turn my hand flat for Santana to use to stand elegantly before releasing it and prowling to the exit; I think I faintly hear Kurt ask about us behind, but he's clearly whispering to someone else and he's still in the shit. Closing the door and slowly turning to face us, Mr Schue starts again, "Look, I'm just going to be honest. It's not something that everyone really needs to know, but I have no qualms about telling you privately if you want to know and are going to be understanding that there are hoops I have to jump through, especially with this production." I nod, and Santana follows. "Basically, ladies, the first issue is with the fact that it includes the word 'sex'. I don't see specifically how that has caused so much uproar, but Figgins and Sue didn't want that word anywhere near the show. Mostly, though, I'm sorry to say that it is the public ideas, and opinions of those associations, of the terms. A transvestite is generally seen as somebody dressing up, which is publicly acceptable - or deemed to be - compared to a transsexual, which is much more of an unwanted figure. Even though it's just a place name, we don't want to send the conservatives running." Santana had him fixed with a glare, but Schue knows the drill and is more concerned with my reaction. "Surely you understand, Quinn, you're always coming to us with issues of your family."

That did not help his cause. I see red, and similarly to how I might have heard Kurt before there is a buzz behind me that I could swear is Santana telling Mr Schue to, probably, run. I smile a sickly way and my eyes ignite, then I grab Santana and take off to the gym. Some of the varsity boys shout at us as we push right through them, more for ignoring them than being present, and I attack the first free punching bag I come to. Santana kindly pulls me away, but just wraps my hands and grabs the back of the sack before letting me continue. It takes a whole half hour before the glee club show up - and by the glee club I of course mean Mr Schue and the football players. I expect our teacher explained why we disappeared at some point, probably not right away, because Puck punches one of the other sacks and seems to be giving him the cold shoulder, too. Mike punches the bag as it swings back, and then the pair of them lift me and carry me out, completely ignoring whatever Schue is shouting at us before Santana tells him to put a sock in it before he digs himself deeper and she's sick of it right now. Sam runs after us, and I think Finn gets into a shouting match with Santana as they use the doors we'd all entered by, going back to the hallway.

I, however, am placed down in the boys' locker room from the connecting gym door on the other side. "Mr Schue didn't say much, care to tell us what's got you like this?" Puck asks.

"I was accepting that there's stuff he has to do in order to even get this show off the ground, do whatever Sue says is going to not have people pull their kids from the school, but just as I'm about to say okay, he decides to tell me I have to support the idea because I have problems with my family being conservative. Like, that's not shit you pull on a kid, right? And he's wrong and it's rude." I'm practically pulling my hair out by the end, and Mike goes to a locker that hasn't been set properly, banging it under the lock to set it open and pulling a couple things out. He tosses me a damp towel and a sports drink.

"Cool off and get your energy, dude." he says. Then his eyes widen and he looks to me and the other boys.

I slowly look up at him, like something from a movie, lowering the bottle from my lips. "You know" Is all I say (what a movie).

"Er." Checking the other guys, recognition striking that they know too, he continues, "yeah. Dione? Yeah, she told me. Still talk, we were close. I hope you don't mind, Quinn, but she wanted people looking out for you here that aren't Kurt and Santana. They're great but if - her words - something set you off and you outed yourself, they wouldn't be able to protect you like I can. But I guess you got yourself an army here." He came over to sit with us, facing me this time instead of behind, and slapped Sam and Puck's shoulders as he called them an army, moving to straddle the bench and sit between them.

"Thanks, Mikey" I smiled. I can be bashful, it's fine. He's a sweet boy, and in a much different way to Sam.

* * *

"Hi, Quinn, I'm glad you could come in for this fitting. I take it you're still on board with the show?" Miss Pillsbury asks after we greet each other and as she's drawing the blinds to her office. She locks the door and then unlocks and re-locks it a few times before smiling at me from where I haven't moved next to the desk. She motions for me to move into some space in the place the oft-open door has now vacated, and picks up a tape measure from on top of a clipboard. She takes the clipboard in her other hand and scans it as she comes over to me. "Great." She doesn't look up, instead having found what's probably my name on the list and putting the tape measure on the bookshelf to her right so she can pick up the board's pencil and mark her place. "So, I'm just going to give this to you, okay?" she hands the board to me, and retrieves her tape measure, "You'll see there's a lot of boxes next to your name. I'm going to call out some numbers, and I just want you to write them into the boxes in order from left to right. Easy." She chimes, smiling at me as I look up at her from over the board.

She moves behind me, and continues. "How about I talk you through it? Okay, so the first measurement is your head circumference. That's in centimeters, not inches, and it's around your eyebrows. It's also usually 4 times your handspan, isn't that funny? Yes, yours is 41. Can you write that in?" She's been wrapping the tape around my head as she talks, and I do as she asks. "Awesome. Just awesome. So, next is your suit length. You're in the male suit," hearing it, it sounds so right, so natural, "so there's going to be a tail. And, of course, a collar. This is in inches, okay, so I'll measure from the nape of your neck here-" she punctuates this point by pressing the metal edge of the tape into my neck, "oh, can you hold that in place, Quinn?" I do so, "Wonderful. Okay, and we'll measure to your mid-thigh, then I'll add an inch for collar and an inch for movement. So you are a-" she's been squatting and now leans right into my legs to read off the tape, my breath hitching and a gasp leaving my lips at her breath against my bare legs. Letting the vowel trail off, Miss P jerks straight upwards. She walks around to face my front, my hands still holding the tape to my neck and clutching the board tight to my chest when she places one on my shoulder. "Quinn, you know I'm your guidance councillor, right? You're supposed to come to me with your problems, and I can only encourage you to use the services on offer. If anything's playing on your mind then my door is always open." She looks over the shoulder she's holding to the closed door behind her. "Well, except for now." She swallows. "Back to the task, hmm? You're quite tall, so it's 26, plus two inches makes 28. Great!" She exclaims as I note it down, pulling the tape over my shoulder and handing it off to her as I do.

"Now for back breadth. This is a few measurements, they all have their own boxes. Shoulder width, then underarms, then ribs, okay?" She's very methodical at this exercise, and it doesn't take long to produce all three measurements. "Now for waist. Hmm, Quinn?" She asks, and I turn my head. "Okay, I should have probably asked this already, but do you mind if any pregnancy-related questions come up at all, ever? I should have probably established this as soon as the year started." I think I look like a deer caught in the headlights. I've been a mannequin this whole time and I was hoping to just be still and do nothing and escape no questions asked. I thought it'd be a silent affair, but Miss P has been defying my easy-in-and-out plan. "Oh, dear, oh, Quinn. Sit down, okay?" She manoeuvres me to the chair across the desk from hers. "I'll get you a water, do you have a bottle?" I look to her at this, and then point to my gym bag, underneath my backpack next to the desk between us. After a few sips, I answer her.

"You can ask anything about my baby. I can't promise I'll answer, and it depends what it is how I'll react, but if you need to ask then it's okay." I concede, returning the bottle myself.

"Okay, Quinn. Just for measuring your waist, you see, you'll be in a male suit so we don't want it to give you a less curvy figure. But still flatter you, of course. It'd be hard to make you look not beautiful. However, it's not been all that long since you gave birth, so your waist and your hips may change a bit before the show and I really do want you to be comfortable. I think-" She stands up now, inspiration striking, "that I'll just measure the small of your back and approximate. We'll go bigger and can always pad the suit so it's straight up-and-down. No curves! You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all" I say, standing, too.

"Okay, so just cross the next box, write this number in the box after that, but then cross the box after that. Can you keep the cross in the box, though? Splendid!" She calls. She's, like, super perky.

As we get to measuring my legs, Miss P randomly throws in "So I've noticed you've got a closer to Santana and Kurt recently. Is there any reason why?" she asks.

"Ah, we're all in glee, and Santana's always been my friend but we got closer." I try to say convincingly as she breathes on my knees.

"Well, okay. Are there any new romances in your life?" She questions again, looking up from my inside leg to see my blush.

"I'm not sure that's appropriate." I try and look away, blushing madly. Miss P just stands and goes to her chair.

"Sure it is Quinn, I'm your guidance councillor" She smiles and motions for me to sit as well. "I'm guessing this time you don't really want people to know? You know, Quinn, that's okay. You know, you're young, you're still learning about yourself, and you have spent a lot of time on the Cheerios. If you're ever confused or not sure, or change your mind, realize you were going for it for the wrong reasons, you can just come to talk to me, okay?" From the moment my butt touches the chair she's off like a rocket, not giving me a chance to step in.

"Miss P, can we just get back to the measuring?" She thinks I'm a lesbian, right? She frowns.

"Of course, Quinn. If things get too much or you just decide you want to talk at a later time, you're very welcome. I mean, deflection of your private issues isn't great, but if you're not comfortable talking - at least don't be denying your issues, okay? Or ignoring them." I wasn't actually deflecting, just don't want to talk and do want to be measured and done quickly. She's getting oddly serious, so I cut her off by handing her the tape. "Yes, of course. We'll just measure for now, so, chest? Mr Schuester told me that he asked that you wear a sports bra, do you mind taking your t-shirt off?" she rambles on this topic, too. Of course, I do so but I'm wearing a binder instead. I'm surprised she didn't notice earlier, really.

"Oh. Quinn, ah. Hmm, okay, we do have to talk about this." She gestures wildly around my general chest area and I sigh, throwing my shirt onto my bag and taking a seat again. Miss P goes into councillor mode and takes out different notebooks from her drawers, and a pen, and then my student assessment profile - a cutdown of my info & data from my personal record - before sitting across from and crinkling her hands together on the desktop. "Do you want to start or should I?" She asks, highly sympathetic. I just look back at her. "Well, okay. So, I have myself noticed, as have some of the athletic staff, recent activity that suggested to us that you might be, perhaps, bisexual or a lesbian. Normally we don't go out of our ways to talk to students about this who don't come to a member of staff with their issues, but there was concern that you may only be pursuing girls because of either the experience that resulted in your pregnancy, the pregnancy itself, perhaps the birth, or even some later fallout from the ordeal in these last few months. You may not understand, but that is not a healthy situation to be in, for your mental state presently or even later on. Coach Sylvester also informed me that Santana is, um-"

"She's a lesbian" I interject, given that Miss P didn't seem to want to.

"Yes. And so I worried that perhaps her influence has made you try things you didn't want with women - not directly, but the idea of it." She swallows. "However, I think we're dealing with a whole other brand of cake right here, aren't we?" She smiles, after looking at some notes. I look down to them. "Oh, sorry. These are some notes and observations we've been, ah, keeping on you, since the year started. Because of your pregnancy last year. Just for your own wellbeing." That's a good thing, even though it seems kind of creepy it's a testament to how much better Miss P is at her job than the rest of the staff that she'd make sure I was okay - and it's probably best that it was kept secret, too.

"Okay. Thanks for that." I say, and mess with my fingers in my lap.

"Quinn." She sighs when it's clear I have nothing to add. I look up, soulfully. "Oh, Quinn. Do you believe that you're a boy?"

It's my turn to sigh, and then I swallow, too, before nodding towards my empty lap, hands resting on the desk.

"Okay. Have you spoken to a specialist? A counsellor or a therapist, a doctor?" She probes, as she makes a short note on the pad.

I nod again, and look up. "Dr Berry, actually. Rachel's white dad." I elaborate, and she smiles.

"Well, that's all dandy, then. And wonderful news, I think. You'll be in capable hands with him, I'm sure, and you're seeing a professional." She then frowns, "But that doesn't mean that my concern goes away, in fact I think you just peaked to the top of the school's suicide watch" Way to be subtle, I think shortly after the automatic reaction that is my eyes turning to saucers. "Oh, no, sorry. Just. Ah, okay. We'd still like you to know that you can talk to me about anything, I may, however, coordinate with Dr Berry. I won't tell anyone else that you don't want me to, okay, but I can tell the administration if you yourself don't want to. I may schedule meetings, and I'll probably keep checking up with you, but a lot of our probing concerns will be more covered with your doctor so - oh, should we finish the measurements?" I think she said everything she needed to, and suddenly wields her tape measure again.

* * *

It's now our "opening night". Opening for a few faculty, but as Mr Schue said - this is for us. I'm looking in the show mirrors backstage when Rachel and Santana appear behind me, trying to scrub off Magenta's make-up for what I'll have for Sweet Transvestite (there was a short intermission after Time Warp so we could all change and Coach Beiste could use the restroom). Rachel perks up.

"Oh my god! What a transformation! You look like a dashing young gentleman, Quinn. You're so handsome! Wow! I always thought you were so beautiful, but you're absolutely stunning!" Rachel gushes as she leans in further and then gets pulled back by Santana.

"Jesus, Berry? Perv much? You can suck his dick later if you're that desperate" I actually cough, and Rachel just blushes as I try to scold Santana through the mirror. It's not working, so I turn around to them, forcing them both backwards to give me some breathing room.

"Try not to be so loud, San? And try not to give Rachel a heart attack, too?" I say to her, lowering the pitch of my voice instead of volume so I'm not hissing at her, and she knows I'm not catty.

"Oooh. Do that again!" Rachel jumps and claps and Santana laughs at her until I buff her arm.

"What?" I ask in the same voice. And when Rachel beams I smile back, working out what she meant.

"That, with the voice. You should do it more. At least around us, you know." She blushes, and I just widen my eyes to convey how awkward she just made it. There's no time for more, though, as the bell calls for places. I spend another minute with Santana as Rachel goes to the other side of the stage, and appraise myself in the full length mirror right by the wings, costumes strewn around it.

"You do look good" I hear Santana approach, and look up from my reflection to see her in the mirror as she rests on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I feel good, too. And I think I look better, and more right. So, I guess I feel better and more right, too." I reply. After a second, we both wistfully smirk together, and then Santana kisses my cheek.

"You're perfect, Q, and you're getting there." She sighs, "I'd even consider going straight for you." At this I smile, and turn before wrapping her in a hug. This is it, the first time she's really actually come out to me.

"I'm so proud of you, and I'll always love you, San." I mutter into her hair.

"Yeah, me too, Q, me too."

 **hope you enjoy, tell me what you think!**


	7. AN

**Hi! This is just a little note to say : I got a review asking if this was Quinn/Santana.**

 **Well, I have no relationship planned at the moment, but if people want a certain pairing then you can ask for it. I was going to try and follow everything seen on screen, but I'm sure we can work it in :)**

 **I also love the feedback of the other reviews, so I guess just thanks for reviewing and the positive energy :) - Alex**


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